Fic: Two Dads (Harry Potter)
Title: Two Dads
Author: hobgoblin
Contact: hobgoblinn_sp@yahoo.com, http://hobgoblinn.livejournal.com/
Rating: FRC
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going.
Feedback: Makes me write better. Or guilty for not writing more. Use your power well.
Spoilers/ Notes: Post Deathly Hallows. Takes place about 4 years before the epilogue. See notes at end.
This can be read as a stand-alone, but it's also backstory to this: Lost Boys.
Summary: A letter leads Harry to discover common ground where he’d least expected it.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to lady_clover and clavally for their comments on the first draft, and to gillo who pointed out in passing a rather glaring scientific inaccuracy. All remaining mistakes are my own.
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else.
***
Fatherhood changes people, Harry supposed. It had certainly changed him. He still couldn’t believe how exhausting it was, trying to stay one step ahead of his kids’ crazy ideas. At least he and Ginny had older relatives and friends in the wizarding world to tell them what to expect, what was normal. It was nothing like it had been for him, growing up, blamed for every odd thing he accidentally made happen, and quite a few he didn’t.
He read through the letter in his hand again. Dudley Dursley. Wanted to meet with him. About his son David, a boy almost Albus’ age. A boy who, if Dudley was right, had inherited more than green eyes from the Evans branch of the family.
It was hard to forget sixteen years of bullying and abuse at the hands of his cousin. But Harry remembered something had changed in Dudley by that last summer. He’d really never been quite the same after the dementor attack. And he had wished him luck at their last parting. Said he didn’t think Harry was a waste of space. Hardly a ringing endorsement, but coming from Dudley, in front of strangers and his disapproving parents, it had been a huge step.
Well, it couldn’t hurt to go see the kid, he thought. Maybe Dudley was mistaken. He glanced down at the letter and reread the end. “Look, I just don’t want my son to go through what you did. What we both did. Do you know, for the longest time I thought it was a disease, the way you were. That if I wasn’t real careful, I would catch it. And then Mum and Dad would start to hate me, too. It doesn’t make it right, how bad I treated you. But David is a good kid. Way better than me. And I can’t help him with this and keep him safe if I don’t know stuff. Please come.”
So Harry apparated to Little Whinging early one Saturday morning in September, to a deserted alley he remembered quite well, and walked over to the football field, where a group of 7 year olds was playing a match. It was a glorious day, the sky a brilliant blue, the air crisp and cool. As he approached the sideline, he easily picked out Dudley standing a little apart from the other parents, pacing nervously and pausing every so often to look around him. He was still overweight, but not as massively so, with blonde hair going the same dirty grey as his father’s, years ahead of its time.
Dudley caught sight of him then and gave a tentative wave as Harry silently joined him, scanning the field. David was a goalkeeper, Dudley had said, and sure enough, there was a skinny, wiry kid who looked more like Harry than Dudley at that age, save for the reddish blonde hair. Dudley followed Harry’s eyes, then confirmed, “That’s David. And um, thanks for coming.”
Harry nodded, but still said nothing. He watched the action on the field intently, knowing Dudley was anxiously watching him. The boy was quite talented-- great reflexes, much better than than one would expect from a child of his age. Harry watched as the ball sailed towards the goal, just outside the boy’s reach-- no way he’d get it in time....
He caught it, diving. “Luckiest kid I ever saw,” growled a woman a little way from them, under her breath. Dudley looked a tad sheepish, as if he’d heard such remarks before. Harry continued to watch.
After a few more saves, Harry couldn’t put it off any longer. “Great reflexes on that kid,” he said casually. He looked his cousin in the eye. “Let’s take a walk. Shall we get some coffee? He’ll be playing a while longer, right?”
Dudley nodded, and Harry felt sorry for him. He looked slightly ill, but other than that, his expression was nothing like Harry had expected. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't completely revolted, either. They began walking across the grassy area towards the street, where, if Harry remembered rightly, there used to be a coffee shop.
“Well, you’ve already guessed it’s not just luck,” Harry said finally, when they were far enough away from anyone who might overhear. “I saw the ball change directions quite a few times there-- just slightly, but more than natural causes could explain. I’d guess he’s wanting to catch the ball so much that his, er, magic is affecting it in his favor when things are close....”
“Just like yours grew your hair back all those times Mum cut it off,” Dudley finished quietly. A slight grin played along his lips. “And there was that time a pane of glass disappeared at the zoo....” Harry hesitated, then grinned back.
“That was totally an accident,” he said.
“And I was a prat,” Dudley admitted. His grin faded. “I had a huge row with Mum, when I asked her how to get hold of you.”
Harry grimaced. “I’ll bet.”
“But I told her if she ever wanted to see either of her grandkids anymore, she’d better tell me what I needed to know.”
They reached the coffee shop and Harry tugged open the door. The companionable silence while they waited allowed Harry to gather his thoughts, and to study his cousin. He had changed. Dudley was no longer the thoughtlessly cruel git he’d grown up with. He’d still bully his mum a bit to get his way, obviously. But he said thanks to the girl at the counter and tipped her. He opened the door for an old man and held it patiently while he shuffled inside. And while thinking would never be Dudley’s strong suit, he was all the while deep in thought, pondering what this new knowledge would mean, not just for his son, but for his whole family. He looked... like a dad.
Stepping back out of the shop, Harry blew on his coffee and took a careful sip, wondering what he should say. “Well, on the upside,” he said finally, lightly, as they started back to the park, “...he’s got the makings of a great Quidditch Keeper.”
“That’s what, that game your sort plays?” Dudley said it matter of factly, without the sneer he’d had as a kid. Harry watched as his cousin mulled that over for a moment and then brightened a little. “He won’t have to go to Smeltings, either. That’s almost worth it right there.”
Harry had to agree with that. He cast about for something else to say, something neutral and polite. “So, you’ve got a daughter too, right? How old is she?”
A new concern flickered through his cousin’s eyes. “Almost 3. How early do they... I mean....”
Oh. Yeah, good going. Really neutral subject, that. But Harry replied, “It varies. And I think in families where this is, er, common, they're looking for it and spot it sooner. Anyway, you know from our mums that it doesn’t always show up in all the kids in a family....” He stopped, noticing how oddly Dudley was looking at him. “What?”
Dudley shook his head. “I just thought you’d be, I dunno, happier about all this, or something.”
Harry watched the kids running up and down the field and thought for a minute. He knew how disconnected some of his Muggle-born friends were from this world now, how Hermione’s parents loved her, but would never really understand their daughter. It had never really struck him, having so little to look back on fondly himself, how sad that was. Until now.
But he couldn’t think of any way to say it to Dudley. Instead, he mustered a grin and said, “How would you like to bring the family over for dinner on Sunday?”
Dudley gave him a long measuring look, then nodded solemnly. “I think we’d like that.”
The match ended then, and the little goalkeeper ran up to them. “Did you see, Dad? Did you?”
Dudley’s face changed as he looked down at his son-- pride, and love-- and acceptance, Harry thought.
“Yeah, I saw,” he answered, smiling. But there was a deep sadness in his eyes, too, just for a second. Then he said, “David, I’d like you to meet someone. This is my cousin Harry. Harry Potter.”
Lost Boys - Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Notes:
This is a companion piece/prologue to a post-DH story I started about Albus Severus, before I decided I couldn’t stand the name, and that the relationship was just too pat to work. So, instead, this boy will meet a certain ghost in the dungeons of Hogwarts, and this story is my attempt to work out how he knows about his family and the wizarding world, and the history of the ghost. It started with the image of two dads watching a football match, with more going on for them then was apparent at first.
And, this is my first Harry Potter fic, though not my first brush with writing fanfic. Feedback is truly appreciated, up to and including flames. I can take it. Really.