Legacy

Chapter Six

Now that the world isn't ending, its love that I'm sending to you.

It isn't the love of a hero, and that's why I fear it won't do.

Hero - Nickelback

***************************

The end of November brought a cold snap and an early snow, promising Hogwarts a hard winter ahead. After a few days of reflection, Harry decided to assign Jack and Ren to detention with Hagrid. He had planned on using the time to get to know Renato a little better, but in the end, decided that it was more prudent to watch from a bit of a distance. He felt unscrupulous trying to pump information out of Ren when the boy didn't realize the whole truth of the situation.

Hagrid promised to work them hard, and he did. They spent several hours that week helping him keep the firewood plentiful and stacked neatly by the castle's many hearths. Students were bundling up, under warm cloaks, as they passed each other in the halls.

It was a busy time. Classes were moving quickly now, as Harry got into the rhythm of teaching. He was enjoying being with the students, watching their faces as they discovered some magical ability within themselves. It was challenging to find the proper motivation when a student was unable to get the hex off correctly, or to deflect a curse in time. It reminded him of the DA's classes during his fifth year. He had found a great deal of comfort during those hours, working with his classmates to strengthen their skills. It pleased him when he was able to help others, and he was reminded of that feeling when he saw a young student repel a hex, full of pride in their accomplishment.

But the one lesson he was most looking forward to was the Boggarts with the third years. He had sent the word out amongst the staff to save the first available Boggart for him, and within a few days Professor Vellum had one hiding in Greenhouse Two. She had even packed it into a small trunk for him when he arrived to pick it up.

The lesson had been as entertaining for the students as his own first experience had been. Following Lupin's example, he had the students face the Boggart one at a time, watching carefully for any students who might not be able to master the incantation.

There were some interesting manifestations of fear - a giant scorpion, a wall of fire, an outer space monster from a Muggle movie. Jack's Boggart, a realistic Howler complete with Hermione's screams echoed in the classroom for several minutes, to the delight of Harry and the rest of the class. Even Jack was able to laugh about it afterwards.

Renato's was interesting. Bees, hundreds of them.

But it was Harry's Boggart that was the most unsettling. Expecting to see the same one he had for the last fifteen years, he stepped in after the students were done, to finish it off. He was thrown off by what he saw before him. He recovered quickly, and said, "Riddikulus," and the Boggart crumbled immediately. A few students looked at him curiously before he dismissed them. Jack gave him a worried look, as he and Ren walked out of the classroom, leaving him there to reflect on what he had seen.

It was a gravestone. His gravestone.

****************************

He lay awake that night, in bed, thinking. His Boggart puzzled him, and he couldn't get the image out of his mind.

So Harry got up, walked over to the sitting room, and sat down on the sofa, right in the centre, his favourite spot. He was watching the fire dance, looking for patterns in the light when Ginny walked into the room, looking sleepy.

"It's cold, love, go back to bed," he said.

"You too."

"Give me a minute," he said, smiling at her.

She went into their room, and walked back out with a blanket. She sat next to him and wrapped it around them. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"What's your Boggart?" he asked, putting his arms around her.

Ginny looked at him. "Last I checked, it was Mum asking me about grandkids. Why?"

"I have a new one," he said. "Its different than the last time I saw one."

"The veil?" she said. He nodded.

She was quiet, but squeezed his hand. "And what is it now?" she asked.

"It was a graveyard. No, more like a grave. My grave."

Ginny shuddered. "Are you afraid of dying?" she asked.

"Not anymore that I have ever been," Harry said, casually.

"Are you sure it was your grave?" Ginny asked.

"It said, 'The Boy Who Lived'. I think that narrows it down to me, right?" he retorted.

She took her face off his chest, and looked up at him. "I understand it," she said confidently.

He looked over at her, smiling broadly. "Enlighten me, please," he implored.

"It's not death you fear, love, its being remembered. Or rather, not being remembered. You are afraid of not being Harry Potter, but that iconic figure that did no wrong. That no one will remember the real you."

"I'm dead, what do I care," he asked, smiling.

She pushed him away. "That's not funny, you know," she said, matter-of-factly.

He kissed her on the cheek. "What I mean, is, why am I afraid of not being remembered? Being famous was never something I wanted."

She smiled at him. He was clueless, sometimes. "Harry, it's not about the fame, or about being remembered," she said. "It's about your legacy. It's about what you leave behind, who follows you after you are gone."

She looked up for a moment, as if thinking of an easy way to explain it to him. "You fear not having left anything behind that really matters, to you. Not the hero stuff, not the Boy Who Lived nonsense, or saving the world from Voldemort, all of which were really excellent," she said, smiling. "But I don't think that is what you, Harry, use to assess the value of your life."

He looked puzzled.

Ginny grinned, and tried another approach. "You want to be remembered for who you are, not what you did."

Okay, now that made sense. Harry snuggled up closer to her on the sofa, and felt her curl up against his chest. His fingers played with her hair, as they both lay there, neither one saying anything.

"How can you be so smart?" he asked a few minutes later.

"It's not so smart. Women think about this a lot. I think it has to do with bearing children. I mean, seeing your self in someone else, someone that you created. Mum used to say we were the most important work she ever did. I thought she was daft, that of all the wonderful things you could do with your life, having kids seemed so ordinary." She sighed. "I think about it a lot, now. It makes more sense to me, the older we get, and the more obvious it seems that I am not going to have anyone to follow me. In a way, I'm an ending. The last of me."

"Gin," Harry said, unhappily.

"Harry, don't tell me those thoughts never crossed your mind. Or that they haven't changed since you found out about Renato," she said, furrowing her brow. "But then why... could that be why your Boggart changed? But you have a son, you know about him. You shouldn't be worried anymore," she said softly.

A sad smile spread across her face. "A part of you will continue. That makes me happy," she said, wistfully. Harry looked into her eyes, but saw no trace of resentment.

She stood up, took his hand in hers. "Come to bed, Harry. It's late."

But as he lay in bed that night, his mind continued racing. There was something there, in the corners of his head, thinking about Sirius. When he had died, he had left everything he owned to Harry, as he was the last of his line. Harry suspected, from comments made in passing, that he was also Remus' beneficiary, to a much smaller but equally treasured inheritance.

Sirius and Remus, both good men, brave, honourable. Without families of their own, they had adopted and been adopted by Harry and his friends. But in fifty years, who would remember them? Would they be relegated to a few lines in Hogwarts, A History? A paragraph about the controversial decision made by Albus Dumbledore, to hire a werewolf as a professor? Even worse, Sirius Black, the outlaw, relegated to a footnote in Harry's own extensive chapter?

In fifty years, in a hundred years, will anyone remember me, he thought to himself. Not the words from a book that described what I did. But who I was.

Ron's family was not famous, but Harry knew all about the month-long chess match his grandfather had won when he was a boy, about how Molly's favourite aunt had taught her to knit the famous Weasley sweaters, and how long before Arthur was interested in automobiles, his grandfather was fascinated with the early gasoline powered motors, and tinkered in the same shed that his grandson now used, and that he would pass down to his own grandchildren one day. He knew those people, as sure as he knew Molly and Arthur.

Was that the difference, he wondered? Was it having that family to leave your treasure to? Not wealth, or assets, but what belonged to you. Those belonging, those stories, those characteristics that identified you.

Was that your legacy?

But what was important to Harry? What would he like to leave to someone? His most prized possessions? His invisibility cloak. The Marauder's Map. His old broom. His photo albums. A painting of Hedwig that Ginny made for him during their first year of marriage. These were things that meant something to him. These told the true story of Harry Potter.

It occurred to him that he wanted to give these things to someone, someone who would tell their children stories about how Harry had used the invisibility cloak to sneak into Honeydukes as a student, and once into Ginny's room in the Burrow to ask her to marry him. He wanted them to know that his godfather bought him the most expensive broom in the world, and his 'Uncle Remus' taught him all about the Map that four extraordinary boys made.

There were other things, too. He wanted the Potter name to go on. He wanted to know that his family line was not going to die out as well. He wanted grandchildren.

For the first time, this was all a possibility. There was someone out there that could give him what he wanted. But did it make sense that at the very moment all of this became a real possibility, that Harry would begin to fear it? Fear that it would not happen? Fear that he would be rejected? And Ginny, what about Ginny?

Around three in the morning, Harry finally understood his Boggart. He knew about Renato. But Renato still did not know about him. For all Renato knew, Harry was just 'The Boy Who Lived,' nothing more. Harry knew right then that he wanted more than that. It was time to start a real relationship with his son. But how?

Sleep was beckoning, at last. Harry drifted off, still hesitant about his future with Ren. Maybe if he watched him for a couple of weeks, it would make more sense. He would have a better idea of how to approach him, how to introduce himself into Renato's life, without mucking it up too badly.

******************************

So Harry began to observe. He noticed a wide range of behaviours in Renato and his friends. It was hard to watch. On one hand, he was proud of his son. The boy had a good work ethic, studied hard and got very good grades. He had solid friendships, and was popular with students from different houses, and in different years.

Conversely, he was quick to start arguments, slow to back down, and eager to prove that he was right, always right. 'Conceited' was a word that was on the tip of Harry's tongue on more than one occasion. It was maddening to see.

Sometimes Harry looked for himself in his son. There was a physical resemblance, of course, but that isn't what he was searching for. It was more personal characteristics that he wanted to see, and they were harder to find.

Maybe it was just hard to see yourself in someone. Harry thought that Ren had just as many, if not more, of Aurelia's physical characteristics as his own. He had her smile, her straight hair, they way he gestured with his hands when he talked. He found himself remembering more about her by watching her son. Their son.

In the evenings, Harry would pull out his old Marauder's Map and see where Renato and his friends were sneaking off to that evening. They were often out, in the kitchens, the corridors. Once he saw them outside Filch's office, trying to break in.

Harry had hoped that his 'blatant disregard for the rules,' as Snape once put it, wasn't the only Potter trait that Renato had inherited.

Three years ago, when Jack entered Hogwarts, Harry had offered to give the Map to Ron, to bequeath to his son when he felt he was ready, for the next generation to utilize. Hermione had overheard, and became unglued, threatening Harry with no less than five different hexes if Jack ever came across that map.

After seeing the kind of situations the kids got into on their own, Harry was glad they didn't have the Map. It would have added to their brazenness.

It worried Harry that in the end, he found more differences than similarities between him and his son. Ren was confident, playful, and assertive. All characteristics Harry was sure he didn't possess.

Even his friendships were different, Harry realized. He recalled walking into the Great Hall during breakfast one morning when he witnessed a 'disagreement' at the Gryffindor table.

"Jack, get over here!"

"Cassini, sod off!"

"Weasley!" Ren yelled as Jack stormed down the hall. Ren stood up, and followed him out.

Harry had found himself standing next to Nigel Longbottom, who looked at him intently with his mother's round blue eyes, and smiled shyly.

"They'll be okay. They do this all the time," Nigel said to a worried looking Harry.

It was a dynamic unfamiliar to Harry. His relationship with Ron had been the most important relationship in his life, prior to his marriage. They had both needed each other - Harry needed Ron's experience and Ron needed Harry's attention. They were closer than brothers. Sure, they argued once in a while, but Harry could count on one hand the number of times they had really fought about something.

But Ren and Jack were two entirely different people. Jack Weasley was the eldest in his family - no handed down pyjamas or used schoolbooks for him. And Ren, well, he was a little prince, wasn't he? They didn't need each other like Harry and Ron had needed each other. It didn't mean that they weren't best friends, but it was different; they were more like equals. More like James and Sirius, he supposed. It was another aspect of his life that Harry couldn't quite relate to.

But who was Harry? He supposed that asking those that knew him best would yield a more truthful answer than he could give. He considered himself fair, honest, fairly dependable. He knew that Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, courageous and loyal, and he had always tried to live up to that, without wondering if those traits were naturally occurring in him.

How much of a person's life was shaped by events, and how much was inherent? Was he the way he was because Lily and James were that way, too? Or had Privet Drive left some indelible mark on him. And what of Voldemort? Could anyone spend seven years under that kind of pressure and not be affected by it?

Who would he have been with parents who raised him with love and affection? Would he have been more confident, more secure? Would the Sorting Hat still wanted him in Slytherin? What kind of friends would he have chosen, had he not needed to rely on people so much?

And what kind of difference would it have made to Renato, if Harry had been there in his life, from the beginning?

A little introspection was a dangerous thing.

All this thinking made his head hurt, and Harry knew that it couldn't continue. It was time to tell him, before the holidays. He sent an owl to Aurelia, and asked her to come this weekend, the second Saturday in December. It wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, and there would be two full weeks before the holiday break to deal with any issues that might arise.

****************************

Nigel Longbottom had a problem.

Nigel was Renato's oldest friend. They had known each other since before they could remember properly. Ren was a year and a half older than him, but never treated him as anything but an equal. Sometimes when Ren's mum needed to go off without him for some project, Ren would come stay with them, and Nigel would be packed off to the Cassini's if his Mum could convince his Dad to go search for some mythical creature with her. He thought he knew everything there was about his friend.

Nigel was, by nature, observant, like his Mum. He could spot odd behaviours instantly, remembered all sorts of details, and because he was quiet, he heard things that most people didn't hear, and saw things that most people overlooked.

He was also methodical, like his Dad. His mind ruminated, categorized, and developed ideas in a very systematic way, even if he didn't realize that is what he was doing.

But something was up. He could feel it.

The situation reminded him of those wizard puzzles his mother loved. You had to fit these jigsaw pieces together, with no idea of what the end result would be. It might be a landscape, it might be an internal organ - you never knew what it was until it was done. But once it was complete, the puzzle magically came to life.

Or maybe it was more like those plants his Dad grew, patiently. Once the seed was planted, all it needed was time, some water and sun, and the plant would develop on its own, steadily.

Nigel remembered when all his trouble began. It was during the party after Gryffindor beat Slytherin.

When Renato put Potter's glasses on, an idea popped into Nigel's head. Wow, he thought, Ren looks a lot like Potter.

The seed was planted.

Nigel slept fitfully in his bed that night. The idea might have floated away had it not begun to root itself into his subconscious. When he began to observe the attention Professor Potter and the others were trying not to pay to his friend, he began to worry.

Maybe the puzzle analogy was better. As weeks went by, he remembered bits of conversations, arguments between his parents, talking about Harry, telling Harry something. He had assumed at the time that it had to do with Mum's newspaper, and the 'less than flattering' articles they sometimes ran about the Wizarding hero.

Nigel was watching Ren, and he noticed other people were watching Ren as well. It was the teachers, mostly, and Professor Potter in particular. He had developed a habit of trying to look like he wasn't keeping an eye on Renato, and was failing miserably. At first Nigel thought it was Jack that was under Potter's watch, but after a few days, he decided that it was definitely Renato.

He was sliding pieces together, formulating a dangerous theory. Someone who hadn't known Renato forever might not have had all the pieces to slide together, but Nigel knew things that no one, not even Jack, knew. Things about what Ren did, and didn't know regarding his father.

Nigel spent a long time thinking about this, not sure if he should broach this subject with his friend. If he was wrong, well, Ren would be mad at him, but Nigel wasn't worried about that. He truly did not want to cause his friend any pain.

It was just such a sensitive topic for his family. He knew that Ren acted like he wasn't troubled by not knowing much about his father, but Nigel knew better. Only the sheer panic of driving his Mum into emotional turmoil kept him from trying to find out any more information about his father. It was more than a sore subject at that house, it was a non-subject, never mentioned, never discussed.

It was the first week in December when the final piece slid, or flew rather, into place. Only someone who was watching closely might have noticed that the Cassini's owl made its way to the high table, instead of their own. It perched itself next to Professor Potter, delivered its letter, and flew off. Potter read the letter, looked over at McGonagall, who was watching him as intently as Nigel was. He nodded his head to her, some sign that she obviously understood, as she nodded back, and before returning to her breakfast, let her gaze fall upon Renato, who was busy trying to drink his glass of milk without using his hands.

Nigel knew it was time to talk to Ren, but he felt he needed help. He wanted to make sure that he wasn't missing anything, or that there was not some great flaw to his logic. He decided to talk to Jack first, to hear him out, and to help him plan out what to say to Ren. He knew that if his theory was true, he would need Jack to help him deal with Renato's reaction.

So Nigel pulled him aside that evening, in the library. He opened up to him with his suspicions, and offered up what evidence he had of his theory. Jack listened quietly, his expression much like his Mum's, though he didn't realize it. He sat thoughtfully, for a long time, before answering with a single word his Mum would have been shocked to hear.

Nigel agreed.

"We need to tell him," Jack said, apprehensively.

"What if its not true? I could be wrong," Nigel admitted nervously. He fidgeted with his wand.

"No, we still need to talk to him about this. Too many unanswered questions. He needs to hear your suspicions. Maybe there's something we don't know? Maybe he knows this already, and just doesn't want anyone else to know," Jack suggested.

"No, he doesn't know this," Nigel said, positively.

"But what I don't understand is, why is this a secret, if it's true?"

"I don't know. Ren's mum is a good person; she's like family. This doesn't make any sense to me, either," Nigel said.

Jack stood up. "Lets go, right now. Get it out. We might be laughing about it all before dinner," he said, hopefully. Nigel followed him out of the library, and up the stairs to the seventh floor and the Fat Lady. They walked through the portrait hole, and into their warm common room.

"Cassini," hollered Jack. Ren looked up from a table, where he was helping Della, Jack younger sister, and her friends with some first year Transfigurations assignment. "Dormitory, now."

Ren recognized the serious tone in Jack's voice, and after saying goodbye to the girls, he ran up the steps, two at a time.

The room was blessedly empty, the other third years elsewhere. Nigel found himself a place on Jack's bed, pulling a pillow onto this lap. Jack sat at the foot of his bed, long legs crossed in front. Ren sat on his bed, next to Jack's, and turned to his friends.

"What's up?" asked Ren, curiously.

Nigel looked over at Jack, who began to speak.

"Ren, Nigel and I were talking, and ... well, he has this idea, a theory, really, and he ran it by me, and I was listening to it, and it made sense, and well," he said nervously, pausing to take a breath, "since it has to do with you, we wanted to talk to you about it. Right now."

If Ren was confused by any of this, he didn't show it. "Okay," he said, "what's your theory, Nigel?"

Nigel breathed deeply. Please don't me mad, he thought to himself.

"Ren, what exactly has your Mum told you about your father?"

This was unexpected, and Ren's face showed it. "Nigel, you know about this already."

"Yes, but Jack might not, and well, we never really talk about it, and I'd like to know, please," Nigel said in a pleading voice. "It's really important," he added.

Jack nodded.

Ren said, "Okay." He took a deep breath, and began to speak. "He died before I was born. I don't know much about him. His name was David. He died in 1998, during the Second War."

He stopped, and looked at them. "I can do the math - I was born in December, so my Mum must have been pregnant when she was at school here," he said, looking embarrassed. "I don't know if he was a student here, or someone older. I guess they were going to get married once she left school, you know, but... he died in the battle. I'm not sure if it was here at Hogwarts, or in Hogsmeade, or if it was one of the smaller ones. She doesn't talk about it at all. You know how she gets about that," he said, looking at Nigel, who nodded in agreement.

Renato stopped, and cleared his throat. "Now, could you please tell me what that was all about," he said, his voice tight.

Nigel looked frantically at Jack, who closed his eyes. Tell him, he said silently.

"Ren," Nigel finally spoke, "Ren, I think... I think that Harry Potter might be your father."

Renato looked at Nigel, stunned. He turned to Jack, who nodded, looking at his knees.

"Ren," Nigel began again, "please let me explain, and we can talk, and then, if you think I'm wrong, you can thrash me, I promise," he said, smiling weakly at his friend. "Okay? Okay, now, this is what I've seen."

He relayed everything he had noticed since the Gryffindor party incident, up until the owl delivery that morning. Renato didn't interrupt, didn't say anything until Nigel was done. Jack added a few words, then sat back and waited for Renato to say something.

But he didn't say anything. He simply stood up and walked out of the room.

Jack let out a long breath, and Nigel groaned to himself, clutching his stomach. "Come on," said Jack. "Let's go."

"Maybe we should let him be for a while, you think?" Nigel asked.

"No, he's gonna do something dumb, we'd better stop him," he said, as he grabbed Nigel's wrist and began running down the stairs.

They had just made it out the common room door, and were heading down the hall when they spotted him, sitting on the ground a few feet away from the portrait. He looked up at them.

"I was on my way, to see him, and I realized I don't know what to say. I need to think about this," he said, more to himself. "I need to see this for myself, you see, Nigel? I need to see him watching me to really believe this. I need to see it."

"Come on, Ren," Jack said, extending his hand and pulling his friend up. "Lets go back upstairs. Its cold out here, and we can talk, if you want."

"I just want to think about this. I can't imagine... Why wouldn't she tell me? It doesn't make sense. Nigel, can you figure out why?" Ren asked, sounding very unsure of himself.

Nigel didn't say anything until they were back in the dorm room. The boys sat there for another two hours, not really talking, but listening to each other all the same.

Renato couldn't remember much of what happened for the next two days. He spent his time deep in thoughts that were dark, angry, and confused. He had never been so unsure of anything in his life. He wandered from class to class in a dazed state, and alternated between snapping at classmates and trying to notice if anyone was watching him.

Nigel was right. How had he missed this? They were watching him. He deliberately sat in different spots during meals, and each time, the eyes of his teachers followed him.

He floated through his classes as well, paying enough attention to avoid getting in trouble. The same questions kept circling his head.

Why didn't she tell me?

Why didn't he tell me?

Renato wanted badly to talk to someone about this, to ask if it was true. He felt he could handle whatever the answer was, as long as he knew the truth. He couldn't imagine that it was true, but it made sense. Everything about it made sense. Except why they didn't tell him.

Everything he had known about Professor Potter didn't match up with the idea that was being painted in his head.

And he had asked him questions! He had quizzed him about his upbringing, wanted to know all about his life, what he liked to do. It wasn't like he didn't like Renato, was it?

Was he ashamed of having a son with someone he knew from a long time ago? Did his wife know? Was she the reason why Potter didn't acknowledge him?

Finally, on Friday, some relief came in the form of his Mum's owl, bearing a letter.

Renato, I'll be in Hogsmeade Saturday morning, doing some work. Can we meet for a while after lunch? I'll be up to get you around one o'clock.

Mum

"News, Renato?" Nigel inquired politely.

"You didn't ask her, did you," said Jack, holding a half eaten piece of toast.

"No, not yet. But it looks like I can ask her in person," Renato said, bitterly, holding the letter out for him to read. "She'll be here tomorrow."

"Did she say why she was coming?" asked Nigel, looking across the table at the letter in Jack's hands.

"She says she's going to be in Hogsmeade, for work, and thought she would just stop by."

"Do you think she's coming to see... him?" Nigel asked in a hushed tone.

Jack looked up coldly, his blue eyes very dark. "He's married, Nigel," he said sharply, "to my aunt, who lives here, as well."

"Anyway, if she was coming to see him, he'd probably go meet her in Hogsmeade," Renato said, crossly.

"She's not coming to meet him," said Jack, angrily. "He wouldn't do that to Ginny. He loves her."

"Well then, if he was my dad, that would mean that he did love my Mum, too," Ren said, his eyes meeting Jack's. "Unless you think your wonderful 'Uncle Harry' just liked to rut around, with anyone, when he was young," he said, his voice challenging Jack to answer him.

Jack stood up, and looked like he was seriously considering throwing a punch in Renato's direction.

"Trouble, gentlemen?" asked Professor McGonagall, who was as quiet as a cat when she wanted to be, and seemed to appear out of nowhere. She was standing behind Renato, looking over at Jack, with a worried expression on her face.

"No, Professor, nothing at all," Renato said, placidly. Jack glowered, but shook his head, and sat down. His face was as red as his hair.

McGonagall looked like she wanted to ask the boys more questions, but pursed her lips, and said, "Very well," before quietly walking back up to the front of the room.

Ren looked up at the staff table. Potter and his wife were watching them, along with most of the students sitting in the Great Hall. Jack finished his meal in silence. When he was done, he got up, and walked out of the hall by himself.

Renato and Nigel ate quietly, and walked out together.

Harry and Ginny looked at each other, and frowned.

***************************

Saturday morning arrived, and Renato was ready.

He had not spoken to Jack since their argument the previous morning. He knew that he had unfairly taken his anger out on Jack, but he would have to mend that later. He could only concentrate on one topic at the moment, and that was Harry Potter.

He left the common room early, skipped breakfast because his stomach was in knots, and walked around the lake a couple of times, the cold air clearing his head. He sat and watched the squid moving under the water, wishing he could hide in the murky depths for a while, until this whole mess just went away. He wanted to pretend he had never talked to Nigel and Jack about this. He wanted to throttle someone, anyone. If Harry Potter appeared in front of him, he just might take a swing at him.

Most of all, he wanted it all to be true. As bad as he felt about no one telling him, deep down, he desperately hoped that he might finally have what he had been missing his whole life. A father.

He walked for hours, thinking, and waiting.

Harry had also woken up early that morning. He sat nervously through breakfast, not touching his toast and tea. He noticed that Renato wasn't at breakfast, and wondered if everything was okay. Ginny sat next to him, uneasily. She looked up at him, and his eyes met hers, and she saw how scared he really was.

"Come on, let's go," she said. He silently followed her out of the hall, and back into their suite.

"You've got some time before she arrives, why don't you lie down? You tossed and turned all night," she said, rubbing his head.

"Sorry, Gin," he said apologetically, as she led him to the sofa.

"Don't worry about me," Ginny answered. "Do you want something to calm you down? You look as jumpy as a billywig."

He shook his head, but pulled her down to sit next to him.

"I'm scared, I think," he admitted.

"I know, love," she said, trying to make him comfortable.

They sat silently, for the rest of the morning. He was no closer to relaxing than he had been that morning, and she seriously considered putting some calming draught into a glass of Butterbeer and giving it to him.

Ginny herself felt oddly calm, for a woman whose husband's former lover was arriving soon, coming to see her husband, coming to tell their child about his paternity. She had considered the situation a hundred times, and in almost every instance, Harry still came home to her at the end of the day. She believed totally in Harry's devotion to her, and if that woman had really wanted to cause trouble in her marriage, she most likely would have done so by now.

So she did her best to help Harry, who was looking pale now. She looked at the clock. It was almost noon. She breathed a sigh of relief. Once Harry was off, she planned on locking herself in the Hospital Wing and checking inventories, organizing cabinets, rearranging furniture - anything to take her mind off the conversation that would be going on somewhere in the castle, between Harry, Renato and that woman.

At twelve thirty, she looked over at Harry. The man who fought Voldemort and a dozen Death Eaters was shaking now. He looked up her, and smiled wanly.

"Up, Harry. Go and get this over with," she said, smiling at him. "It's not going to be that bad, love. This is a good thing, remember." She reached over and pulled him up. She held him close to her, and kissed him on the cheek. "Come back and tell me about it when you are finished."

"I will, Gin. I love you," he said, still holding her.

"Harry, it's going to be okay. Go talk to him. This is such a happy day for you. Please don't be scared," she said.

So Harry left his room, and walked down the hall in a daze. He had arranged to meet Aurelia at the front of the castle. She was already there when he arrived, dressed in a long red dress with a matching cloak. A couple of seventh year boys were watching her from the steps of the castle, where they were sitting, reading. Harry stopped himself from scolding them for gawking at her.

"Hello, Harry" she said, smiling when she saw him. He took her hand, squeezed it softly, and gave her a grin. She looked as nervous as he felt. They walked into the castle and stood for a moment next to the suit of armour that guarded the doors to the Entrance Hall.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked. She just looked at him, her large eyes dark and clouded, her expression worried.

"Do you want to look for him, or did you arrange to meet someplace specific?" asked Harry.

She shook her head. "No, I told him I would find him when I got here." she said, looking around at the numerous students walking in the hall. "Where would be the best place to do this?" she asked, looking around. "I imagine privacy would be a good idea, no?" she said sardonically.

He nodded in agreement. "My office would work. Why don't you find him, and you two can meet me there. You can tell him that..."

But Harry didn't finish his sentence. At that moment, Renato came walking into the Entrance Hall from his walk outside. His cheeks were ruddy and chapped from being outside in the chilly air, but his eyes were blazing. He sauntered over to where Harry and Aurelia were standing. They both turned to look at him. He stared back at them with equal intensity.

Oh no, thought Aurelia.

Renato took one last look at Harry, who was plainly terrified now, and turned to his mother, with a new fierceness in his gaze.

"Is it true?" he asked, turning his eyes from his Mum to Harry. "Are you my father?" he demanded.