Pure Love

It was a beautifully starry night, not a single cloud blurred the sky above Hogsmeade village. Under such a dazzling blanket of stars, the whole village slept peacefully. Everyone that is, except the smallest occupant of number 16. The six-month-old David Oliver Potter-Wood had decided that he was hungry at 2:48 in the morning and was making it inescapably clear. At first Sirius Potter stirred as if to see to it himself, but he had barely sat up when he felt a loving hand on his bare shoulder.

"You go back to sleep ...I'll see to him," whispered Michael, still half asleep himself. Despite his grogginess, he quickly extracted himself from the comfort of the bed. He picked up his dressing gown from the floor, where it had been hastily thrown the night before when David was staying with his grandparents. Sirius and Michael had been sure to make good use of their little 'night off'. After fishing David out of his cot, Michael took the crying infant out into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him so that Sirius could carry on sleeping. David's cries became quiet whimpers. He was happy to be in his father's arms, but the little tyke was still hungry. "Well, you've got Daddy up. I expect you want feeding now, don't you?" asked Michael, slowly beginning to wake up properly. Shifting his hold on David so that the baby could rest his little head on his shoulder as they entered the kitchen. With his free hand he took his wand from his dressing gown pocket and tapped the waiting bottle. It instantly began to fill up with warm milk.

Once it was ready, Michael cradled David in his arms and started feeding him. David's little moans were replaced with gentle sucking sounds. He wrapped his tiny hand around one of Michael's fingers on the bottle. His grip was so gentle and fragile it was if the slightest knock or bump could seriously harm him. No danger of that happening when a parent as loving as Michael was near. Through all the events of his young life, Michael had experienced and caught glimpses of many different kinds of love. Even now, he had no idea how to describe his love for David.

~|~

Both Katie and her one-year-old son Michael were enjoying bath time. Katie enjoyed it because it was one of the many ways in which Michael depended on her. She derived no selfish satisfaction from this. It was the glowing look of pure love that Michael gave her that she took such joy in seeing. Michael enjoyed it because it was a chance to splash about and make a mess. He was particularly having fun playing with a small toy boat. He giggled as he lifted it up and then brought it crashing down into the water, splashing his mother.

"You are a little scamp," she laughed, leaning over the side of the bath and rubbing her nose against his. Michael patted her cheek lovingly. Taking a large cup from the side of the sink, Katie filled it with water and poured it slowly down Michael's bare back, something that he found very soothing. She met no resistance when she wiped his face clean with a cloth. He laughed when she scooped up some of the bubbles and blew them gently so that they landed on his nose. In short, they were having a whale of a time. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Katie hoisted Michael out of the bath and wrapped a fluffy towel around him. As she dried him, he looked directly up into her eyes. He was looking at her with the kind of love that only a child can give.

~|~

Michael was so immersed in his reminiscing that he almost didn't see that David had finished his milk. Putting the empty bottle down, he once again shifted his hold on him so that he could rub his back. After just a few rubs, David let out a loud, healthy burp.

"There's a good boy," whispered Michael as he went and sat down in the living room with David still nestled in his arms. It suddenly hit him again that if someone asked him to put his feelings for his son in words, he probably wouldn't be able to answer. Perhaps it was a silly thing to be dwelling on, but it was late and Michael's tired mind pondered the strangest things during these little nighttime feedings. He had never usually had any trouble voicing his feelings, not since he and Sirius discovered their feelings for each other. He was, however, at a complete loss to express even to himself how much he loved his son. He looked down at David, who was giving his father the look that Michael had given his own mother all those years ago. A look of pure, unconditional love. Michael chuckled and kissed David's forehead. Stroking back his hair comfortingly with his free hand, Michael started to sing quietly:

"You're the catching of the Snitch,

You're the thrill of the chase,

You're the scoring of a goal,

And the wind on my face.

You're the joy I feel,

When the game is won,

It's you I fly for,

My love, my little one."

As if by magic, little David had gone back to a blissful sleep. Michael sat there in the dimly lit room, just looking at his son. For a while he tried vocalising his feelings to him, whispering into the darkness. However, nothing he tried seemed to do anything justice. Not his feelings or David's. Realising at last just how tired he was, Michael stood up carefully and walked silently into the bedroom. Using the utmost care, he slowly placed David back in his cot, tucking him in with the blanket he had been wrapped in when he was born. Looking from David to the sleeping form of Sirius, Michael had one of those revelations that we often have at such late hours of the night. The kind of revelation that is more often than not forgotten by morning. The love he had shown to his mother, his love for David, Sirius, his father, it didn't need defining. Even if it did, the only way it could be defined is, as all love should be, 'pure'. Michael climbed into bed and went to sleep, happy with his definition.