Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

December 1990

There is a thick layer of snow in the back garden.

It is hiding the lawn and covering the bordering plants with a shimmer of white, giving the whole place a magical air in a way only snow can do. 

Harry bounds out of the house gleefully to build a snowman, Neville trotting beside him bundled up in his best blue duffle coat and red wellingtons.

Harry thinks that Neville looks a little like Paddington Bear in his outfit, but he keeps it to himself. His godbrother is still somewhat shy and sensitive. Neville had confided soon after they met that Frank, Neville’s father, had ignored him for a long time because Neville’s mother had been really ill, and that he’d been left with his grandmother who had believed him to be a squib and treated him coldly.

Harry doesn’t understand how they could ignore Neville or be unkind to him. He adores his godbrother. Neville feels warm to Harry’s magic, like a solid comforting light. They’d become instant best friends when they’d finally met. He’s really pleased for Neville that his Mum got better too; that Grandma Melania had managed to heal Alice the previous December in Harry’s first magical ritual.

Neville’s mother also adores her son and Harry can see how much she has helped to bring Neville out of his shell in the past year. He’s a little envious in truth. He misses his own mother even though he barely remembers her properly.

He has his Padfoot, Harry tells himself firmly. Sirius Black is Harry’s godfather and that July had seen him become his actual Dad in magic. The adoption ceremony had been his second magical ritual.

Harry rubs his chest remembering how loved he had felt as Sirius’ magic had wrapped him up in a parental bond. It had been a wonderful tenth birthday.

Aunt Petunia had cried a little. She’s more inclined to softness since she’s had Lillian and the twins, Harry thinks. His cousins are ace. He might ask Padfoot if they can go over and visit later. His Aunt Petunia is alone with the babies since Uncle Vernon had taken Dudley away for a rugby game for the weekend.

Harry misses Dudley. Or rather, he thinks as he shoves his hands against the ball of snow they’ve rolled, he misses his cousin’s strength.

Neville hurries around to stand beside him and they both push at the ball to get it into the centre of the garden.      

Harry thinks it’s just as well they’ve both joined the football team. The regular exercise has helped them both improve their physical fitness. Harry still feels a little scrawny but Padfoot tells him all the time that his father was the same until he got to Hogwarts.

Harry’s going to miss football when they get to Hogwarts, although he’s looking forward to being able to fly his broom whenever he wants.

A year is a long, long time. It still feels very far away, he muses, as he and Neville manage to get the ball placed where they want it.

They come to a stop with a huff.

Harry rubs the tip of his nose and tries to catch his breath as the snow continues to fall around them.

“We need to do a second ball for their top part,” Neville proclaims.

Harry nods. He walks them over to another part of the garden and bends to their task as they begin to pack another ball of snow together. He glances up and over to the house.

The kitchen light shines a warm amber. He can see his Padfoot talking with Neville’s parents at the table by the window. They look serious.

Neville hums beside him and Harry realises that his godbrother has stopped to look over in the same direction. There is a faint glimmer of wet on Neville’s light brown curls and droplets on his eyelashes. His pale face is ruddy with redness from their efforts.

“Do you think they’re talking about Him again?” asks Neville.

Harry nods with a sigh. They always get sent out of the room when the adults want to talk about Him.

Him being the Dark wizard who killed Harry’s parents.

Neville nudges him. “Are you alright?”

Harry nods again. He wrinkles his cold nose. “I just wish they would talk with us rather than sending us away.”

Neville nods back, his expression setting in stubborn lines. “I said that to my Dad the last time. He says we’re too young yet.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Like our age stopped Him from attacking us before.”

Neville shudders and Harry knows it is not with the cold. Neville can remember the Lestranges attack from the Dark Wizard’s supporters a little; mostly seeing the bright lights of the spells and feeling confusion and fear. Harry shoots Neville a look which he hopes says ‘I’m sorry.’ He’s really pleased that he doesn’t remember anything about the Dark Wizard trying to kill him.

If he thinks really hard about his parents, he vaguely remembers playing on a rug with a man softly laughing behind him, teasingly talking to a woman with red hair who is handing Harry blocks. Harry sometimes thinks he made up it up even though Padfoot says it sounds like it is real because he’d seen them playing with Harry on the rug just like in his memory.  

Neville waves a gloved hand at him. “You’re not wrong.” He frowns. “Mum said something about a prophecy but Dad cut her off before she could really explain.”

Harry grimaces. That doesn’t sound good, but something in his magic tells him it is Very Important. Grandma Melania says it is important to always listen to magic.

“I should ask Padfoot,” Harry says.

Neville nods almost absently as he pats the ball into shape. “Shall we finish this up?”

For the next few minutes, they return to the task of building the most awesome snowman ever. They heave the second ball into place above the lower body and soon have a smaller third ball for its head placed on top.

They use an old woollen scarf they’d scavenged from the hall closet around the snowman’s neck, a stick for the nose and pebbles for its eyes. A smaller row of stones forms a smile. Fallen branches from the tree at the end of the garden form the stick-out arms. Harry sacrifices his own red woolly hat to the cause and the snowman is complete.

The back door of the house opens and their parents all troop out bundled up in warm clothing of their own.

Harry leans into Padfoot when his Dad slings an arm around his shoulders and runs a hand over his hatless wild dark hair. A second later, a replacement is plonked over his head.

“Isn’t that a wonderful snowman, boys!” His Aunt Alice proclaims, whipping out her camera. She’s a fiend about taking pictures.

They’re ushered to stand next to the snowman. One photo is taken with their fathers, and the next has only Harry and Neville.

“Your Mum’s right. It looks great, Neville!” Uncle Frank praises Neville making him blush and puff up with pride.

Harry grins back at Neville as he shoots him a soft smile.

“Well, I think the boys have earned some tea,” Padfoot says loudly. “Let’s all get back inside before we lose the light completely.” He ushers them into the warm kitchen.

As soon as they’re indoors, Padfoot whips out his wand to warm them up and dry them out. Harry chuckles as Padfoot shakes himself as though he was in his Grim form. Behind him, Alice rolls her eyes expressively.

Tea is a lively affair.

Bowls of beef stew and dumplings appear on the table as soon as they sit down. Harry thanks Dolba, the Head Elf of the House of Black, under his breath. They don’t have an elf living with them the way Aunt Petunia has Tipsy but Padfoot usually does ask for elf help if there are more to tea than just the two of them.

Harry and Neville are regaled by stories of snowmen competitions and snowball fights at Hogwarts. Harry wonders if he and Neville will have similar memories one day to share with their kids. He and Neville grin at each other across the table, almost silently promising each other they will.

With the meal over, everyone gathers in the living room. Padfoot puts on the television and finds an old black and white Christmas movie to watch.

Harry settles with Neville on the rug, backs against the front of the sofa. Padfoot drapes a tartan throw that Aunt Minnie had given them over their laps. Harry wraps both hands around his mug of hot chocolate content to warm-up and Neville does the same.

It’s cosy in the living room with only the table lamps lit. There is a fire burning low in the hearth, the scent of pine filling the air. The tree is tucked into a corner with fairy lights twinkling along the branches and a small stack of brightly wrapped presents underneath it.

Harry frowns a little because Piers Polkiss had told their entire class that Santa was not real. It wasn’t as though the rest of them didn’t suspect that he didn’t exist, but knowing for certain was…disappointing. Dudley had punched Piers. Harry figures Piers deserved it. 

Harry tries to focus on the movie, taking slow sips of his hot chocolate, but it is so cosy and warm and…

His eyelids slide shut without conscious thought.

The low rumble of his Uncle Frank’s voice pokes through Harry’s drowsy sleep.

“…he’s lucky Remus was with him really.”

“Try telling Regulus that,” Padfoot complains in a quiet tone of his own. “He still doesn’t think he was in the wrong to try and put on the damned ring.”

“I still don’t understand why Regulus is so intent on it being him who finds and destroys these anchors,” Neville’s father replies.

“Let’s just be grateful that he has taken up the quest,” his Aunt Alice says softly. “It’s an entirely dangerous folly. If he hadn’t had Remus with him, he would have put that damned ring on and cursed himself.”

“He’s actually doing a grand job of it mostly,” Padfoot says a touch defensively. He gets that same tone a lot when talking about Uncle Regulus with others. “He has found and destroyed four of the anchors, after all.”

Uncle Frank hums. “With the one you…”

“Andi,” coughs Padfoot.

“…destroyed, we think that means there are likely two left,” Uncle Frank continues. “The remnant of Himself and the one Regulus thinks is at Hogwarts.”

“Right, the Ravenclaw diadem,” Padfoot says. “Regulus still thinks Snape will come through on that.”

“You want to bring Minerva in on that?” asks Frank.

“Who knows if Snape is actually doing anything?” complains Padfoot. “I trust Minerva will actually look.”

Alice clears her throat. “I don’t know why you insisted on the boys going outside earlier if you were just going to continue talking about this when they’re in the room.”

There is a silent beat and Harry is tempted to open his eyes, certain that he’ll see both his Padfoot and Uncle Frank looking dismayed at being scolded.

“They’re asleep!” Padfoot says in a stage whisper.

“All the effort of building that snowman tuckered them out,” Uncle Frank concurs. “We should really get Neville home. We have the Ministry’s Winter Party tomorrow.”

There is a shift in the air and Harry stirs fully awake as Uncle Frank moves Neville from where he’s curled up beside Harry.

Padfoot helps Harry to his feet and Neville’s father hoists a still sleeping Neville into his arms.

Aunt Alice strokes a hand over Neville’s curls, a soft loving expression on her face. “Let’s get him home.” She shifts and Harry is enveloped into a hug.

Harry revels in her embrace for a long moment.

His godmother cups his face gently. “Good Yuletide to you, Harry. We’ll come by on Boxing Day.”  

Padfoot stands behind Harry and puts his hands on Harry’s shoulders as they wave them goodbye at the front door. They watch as the three Longbottoms make their way up the garden path onto Wisteria Lane, snow falling lightly around them. “I can’t believe Neville’s still sleeping.”

“I can,” Harry says with a yawn as Padfoot closes and locks the door. “Building snowmen is hard work! We needed Dudley.”

“Come on,” Padfoot says. “I’ll run you a quick bath and then it’s bedtime.”

Harry grumbles but complies. In truth he kind of likes splashing around in the bath. Padfoot trusts him to bathe by himself and because he likes the trust he’s shown he does make a half effort to clean himself. Harry bundles himself in the waiting warm towels and hurries into his bedroom. He pulls on equally warm pyjamas in a Gryffindor red and clambers into his bed.

The comfort of the heavy duvet festooned with flying snitches make him snuggle down eagerly. He’s debating whether to read some more of his book when Padfoot knocks lightly on the bedroom door and steps inside.

“You ready for sleep, Prongslet?” Padfoot asks cheerfully.

Harry nods and cracks another yawn. He accepts the kiss Padfoot drops lightly on his forehead over the thin faint scar he still carries from his encounter with the Dark wizard.

He frowns remembering Neville’s comment in the garden. “Padfoot…”

Padfoot looks back at him questioningly.

“Neville said Aunt Alice says there is a prophecy,” Harry says quietly. “What does that mean?”

Padfoot grimaces, his features twisting for a moment before they even back into their usual sharp lines even if he looks a little tired. His schoolfriend Doreen O’Brien thinks Padfoot is dreamy because of his dark hair, silvery eyes and cheekbones. Harry thinks she’s mad. Everyone has cheekbones not just Padfoot.

Padfoot nudges Harry’s legs and he moves them to give his father some room to sit down. “What did Alice tell Neville exactly?”

Harry blushes a touch under Padfoot’s gaze. He can’t lie to him. Well. He could, but he won’t because Padfoot always knows somehow. “Just that there was a prophecy. Uncle Frank stopped her saying anything more.”

“Well, he thinks you’re too young to know,” Padfoot holds up his hand when Harry goes to protest, “and so do I really, but…” he sighs. “I also think if anyone has a right to know, it’s you.”

Harry feels his breath catch at that. “Me?”

Padfoot nods. “Because the prophecy is the reason why Voldemort attacked you and your parents that night at Godric’s Hollow.”

Harry bites his lip. “It was my fault?”

“No,” Padfoot shakes his head, his eyes meeting Harry’s so firmly that Harry can see he really believes that it wasn’t Harry’s fault. “There is a Seer, a not very good Seer according to your grandmother…”

Harry lets out a small giggle at that because his Grandma Melania has Opinions about everything.

“…and she gave a prophecy to the Headmaster of Hogwarts before you were born,” Padfoot continues. “It said that a baby would be born at the end of July whose parents had defied him three times and that this baby would have the power to defeat Voldemort; that they would be marked by him.” He pauses. “Only it said it in a much more complicated way.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “So, that’s why he attacked us? He thought I would be a threat to him?”

“He didn’t realise that your Mum was a threat all by herself,” Padfoot grins. “She protected you and made him destroy his own body when he tried to hurt you.”

Harry smiles. His Mum was pretty awesome.

“I mean, your Dad did his bit too, I guess,” Padfoot jokes, waggling his eyebrows.

Harry’s smile widens a touch but it fades as a thought drifts across his mind. “Does that mean I have to defeat him?”

Padfoot cocks his head in a way that reminds Harry of Padfoot’s Grim form. “I won’t lie to you and say no.” He brushes Harry’s fringe back from his forehead. “Prophecies are hard to escape, Prongslet, but we’re trying to make sure that we do everything we can so it becomes irrelevant.”

Harry throws himself forward and into Padfoot’s arms. He buries his face in Padfoot’s chest, the scent and feel of him always make Harry feel safe.

His magic knows the truth.

He can feel it thrum in his blood and bones.

He is meant to defeat Voldemort.

He closes his eyes tightly and wishes it wasn’t him, but he doesn’t think Fate will grant him his wish.  

“You’re not to worry about it, Prongslet,” Padfoot’s hold tightens around him. “I made a promise a long time ago that I would keep you safe and I intend to keep my promise, never mind the prophecy.”

Harry feels the truth of Padfoot’s words rush through his magic too.

Padfoot eases back. “Regulus is hunting Voldemort’s anchors. If he can find and destroy them all, we think that will end him. So, you might not have anything to do. Understand?”

Harry nods.

“And if the worst comes to the worst, Gran and Gramps, me, your Aunt Alice and Uncle Frank, everyone will be beside you,” Padfoot says firmly, “you won’t be alone.”

Harry reads that truth in his magic too. He nods again and hugs Padfoot tightly for another long moment.

Padfoot drops another kiss on his forehead and urges him back under the covers to lie down. “Sleep tight. Love you, Prongslet.”

“Love you too, Padfoot,” Harry murmurs, snuggling back under the duvet, creating a cocoon of warmth.

Padfoot douses the light and closes the door.

For a long moment, Harry lies in bed, but something stirs him to leave his cocoon of warmth. He pads over to the window and pushes aside the curtain so he can look out into the back garden below. The snow is still falling. The snowman stands in the centre of the garden like a white sentinel.

Harry thinks about the prophecy. He really really wants to believe Padfoot is right and that Uncle Regulus will find all the anchor things and Harry won’t have to defeat the wizard who already killed Harry’s parents.  

Maybe he can be like his Mum and his Dad, Harry considers as he stares out into the snow. Maybe he can be clever and brave like they were the night Voldemort attacked them – the night Voldemort came for Harry.

Nobody else, Harry thinks to himself, nobody else should have to die to protect him.

His jaw sets in a determined line that Padfoot would know instantly as the Evans’ stubbornness and grit. His eyes shine with a gleam that Padfoot would recognise as signalling there was Potter mischief ahead.

“I promise to meet my Fate,” Harry whispers.

For a second it is as though the world holds its breath and his magic fizzes in his blood. Beyond the glass, in the garden below Harry sees the ghostly shape of a stag and a doe standing beside the snowman, their shimmering forms keeping watch alongside the snowy soldier.

He remembers the doe touching her head to his heart the year before when they’d healed Alice. The feeling of love and home and safety…

He presses his hand to the glass and watches as the snow falls harder obscuring his view. He stays where he is until they’re gone.

Gone but not forgotten, Harry thinks as he softly steps back to his bed and climbs back under the covers shivering a little. He pulls the duvet closer and closes his eyes.

He’ll meet his Fate but somehow he knows that there are years to go before he does, and a single year lasts such a long, long time.

He has ages yet. It’s his final thought as he falls back asleep.

fin.

Next story: To be continued in The Promise of Hogwarts

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