Many thanks go to solemnlyswear_x for the excellent beta work she did on this chapter.
Harry was pretty sure it had been an unfortunate trick of the light, and therefore dismissed it as stress combined with an unhealthy lack of sleep finally taking their toll on his sanity. The start of the new school year was, undoubtedly, a wonderful thing. Getting his three children onto the train with the bare minimum of fuss, outrage and actual bodily harm was quite another, and certainly didn’t permit him the time to contemplate the apparent presence of his Uncle Vernon at King’s Cross Station. At least, not if he didn’t want James tipping the jar of frogspawn he had ‘liberated’ from the fish tank down the back of his brother’s shirt.
Grabbing James by the collar of his jumper, Harry had to physically hold him out of the reach of Albus, who seemed to have been gripped by a moment of absolute, blind rage and, fortunately for all, had forsaken his Slytherin tendencies in favour of a more immediate, outright pummelling. Lily commanded her mother’s attention, since the tank and therefore frogspawn in question had been hers. Admittedly it had been conjured; no matter what they tried, the real thing adamantly refused to appear within a square mile of the Potter garden, but nevertheless Lily adored them. Harry himself wasn’t entirely convinced he had gotten the incantation completely correct, Transfiguration never having been his strongest subject compiled with the fact that they seemed to have remained spawn for an awful long time. That didn’t change the fact that the tiny, black, wriggling things his daughter had lovingly counted every day for most of the summer now formed a dark and somewhat squelchy wet patch on the back of Albus’ clothes.
James seemed neither apologetic nor repentant, which probably evened out the fact that Albus looked a far way from being forgiving.
Harry used what little energy he had remaining to glare at his eldest, reminding himself that in a few short minutes they would be on the Express and therefore Minerva’s responsibility. He felt a bit bad for the elderly Headmistress, especially since the rivalry between his two sons had only escalated over the course of the holiday; but at the end of the day the woman had chosen her career path, and at least none of his children had taken to battling Dark Lords in their spare time.
Not that you would believe it to hear James speak.
James had always been a Gryffindor to the bone, but there had been very little in the way of surprise when Albus had sorted into Slytherin the year before. Given the way James had teased him at the station prior to the event, Harry had been a little apprehensive about the whole thing. It had been proven unfounded pretty quickly, however, as both his son’s letters seemed to convey the same point: Albus was very happy where he was, and James was ready to beat the snot out of anyone who tried to disturb that happiness. Tormenting his brother was a personal privilege he selfishly hoarded to himself.
Well, he had hoarded it to himself. Open season had been declared on the younger brother within the space of the first term since James, evidently, had a limited supply of goodwill. He could defend the brother who was a Slytherin, but he drew the line at defending the brother who befriended a Malfoy.
Which was where it had all gone wrong.
Admittedly Harry had been a little worried himself when the newest Malfoy name had started appearing in their regular correspondence. James had plenty to say about the first year who seemed to believe he owned the school, had no respect for his elders (namely James himself) and generally strutted about as if the rest of the population was put on the planet to amuse him. Harry had felt a guilty twinge of something akin to satisfaction at the litany of abuse James felt compelled to spout at the merest mention of the name. He had grown out of his own childhood rivalry, but no one could claim that he and Draco were anything more than frostily polite to each other.
Had he been slightly better at reading between the lines of Albus’ letters, he might have seen the whole thing coming a lot sooner. Albus had never been one for gushing hero worship, and Harry had quickly resigned himself to the fact that his son could hardly avoid a member of his own House. Thusly he had steeled himself against the reality that the name Malfoy would be appearing if not frequently, then at least not irregularly, in an altogether unfamiliar positive light. He had learnt they were partners in Potions and tended to tag along to watch Quidditch matches together. Scorpius (and Harry wondered here how Draco could have named his son as such after suffering through his own name) had even tutored Albus in Defence in repayment for Albus helping him with the finer points of Transfiguration. Harry had read it all, his happiness for his son only mildly tempered with a grimace over the increasing presence of the interloper. But the majority of the letters had seemed to suggest that Albus spent a great deal of time either with his brother, or with the friends of his own he had made in Gryffindor, courtesy of one Rose Weasley. In his relief over this Harry had forgotten the simple truth; that Albus tended to prattle about the irrelevant and minor things only. If you wanted to know what was truly important to him, you looked for that which was barely mentioned.
His misconception had been corrected that Christmas when James exited the train sporting a pair of antlers and a miserable glower whilst Albus and Scorpius helped each other with their trunks, exchanged owls and bid each other a friendly goodbye, positioned on the platform exactly midway between their respective parents. Draco had sported an expression of disbelief that rivalled Harry’s own. Ginny had just looked horribly knowing.
In comparison to the summer he had just experienced, the hostility of that Christmas holiday seemed like an era of peace and tranquillity.
James, Harry had been informed by Ginny, felt abandoned and more than a little jealous. He had wanted his brother to look up to him, not some upstart of a blonde git whose dad and granddad - he repeatedly informed anyone who would listen - both should have been in Azkaban. Harry wasn’t sure where James had gotten his information on Draco, and even Lucius, since he didn’t think he had mentioned any of his own personal views on the matter. He suspected Ron in this instance, however, who had no qualms about slandering the name of Malfoy to the gates of Hell and back regardless of whether Rose could hear him or not. She had, to her father’s palpable relief, been sorted into Gryffindor, and was therefore top of Harry’s list as the direct source of James’ somewhat warped knowledge. And James was adamant. Albus had betrayed him and gone to the dark side, and was therefore not to be trusted. Scorpius was evil and therefore needed to be vanquished.
Albus wasn’t having any of it.
And so, over the course of the year, the mild hexes and snide remarks had grown into vicious pranks and blatant insults; punishments had no affect, and both boys were deaf to reasoning. James would not accept that his brother could choose his own friends just fine, Albus would not accept that James was anything other than a complete git, and neither would consent to spending time with each other in an attempt to breach the rift that had formed. Ginny despaired, Harry worried, and the majority of the Weasleys (excluding George, who found the whole thing inexplicably funny) apologetically refused to allow both to visit at the same time. Not even Teddy, who was older, had left Hogwarts some time ago and was therefore ‘the coolest’ could batter some sense into them.
Which left him stuck trying unsuccessfully to manhandle them both onto the train without them killing each other, or him killing them both. Where were Ron and Hermione when you needed them? On the platform already, most probably, since Harry had stupidly arranged to meet them both there. Not that either of them had had any luck whatsoever with the two boys, but at least when they were around Harry could look at their two children and hope something rubbed off on his own. Besides, Rose was the closest thing to a buffer between the two that he had. She was in Albus’ year, and even sat with him in a few of their classes, but she was in James’ House. By adamantly refusing to tolerate their incessant fighting, with stubbornness reminiscent of her mother, she had managed to stay friends with both. They even occasionally behaved in her presence.
But then again, perhaps it was a good thing Ron wasn’t around, since he had the horrible feeling that the thing he had been dreading the most since the start of this odd friendship was about to happen. He could have seen this one coming a mile off, and had to admit that an explosion of the Ron variety would not make it any easier. Albus was going to want to invite Scorpius back to visit for Christmas; or worse yet, he was going to want to go to visit Scorpius himself. Whilst Ron had very definite views against Malfoys in general, Harry had his own very definite views against his son visiting any house or manor that had dungeons. These views were only compounded when the dungeons in question were ones he had had the misfortune of visiting himself. The alternative of having Scorpius in any building that was smaller than a castle, with James around, was just asking for trouble.
Cursing the generations of wizards who had seen fit to place the entrance to the school train in a busy Muggle London station, thusly making it impossible for him to magically silence or even restrain his children, Harry thrust the blasted Malfoy owl into Albus’ arms. It had been a regular visitor over the summer, as both owls alternated back and forth, and the damn thing had a horrible tendency to bite. Its use now had been the first positive thing Harry believed the creature had achieved, since it meant Albus had no free hands with which to throttle his brother, and James was too wary of the thing to go near it. Resisting the urge to rub his temples he looked back to Ginny, who was handing Lily a tissue to blow her nose, the tears over her loss finally dried.
‘This has gone far enough,’ he said flatly as his sons glared at each other in direct contradiction to the statement, their looks clearly declaring that neither believed it had gone far enough. ‘This is Lily’s first day, and I will not have you ruining it for her.’ Both of them had the decency to look at least faintly guilty, although said guilt was still pretty deeply buried beneath layers of mutual hostility. ‘You have the twenty minutes until the train leaves to prove to me you can be civil, or I will be owling ahead to Professor McGonagall, to let her know that neither of you can be trusted to hold your tempers and should therefore not be allowed to attend the sorting.’ That got a response; both his sons looked horrified at the idea.
‘But Dad…’ James whined.
‘But nothing.’ He let his gaze drift meaningfully between the two of them. ‘As it is I have half a mind to just Apparate you there myself so I can at least have the comfort of knowing you cannot ruin her train ride.’
It was Albus who looked absolutely heartbroken at that comment. ‘You can’t!’ he objected rather vehemently, looking uncharacteristically apologetic when Harry raised an eyebrow at his tone. ‘I mean, what about Tressa.’ He gestured to the owl, who was pruning herself regally. Harry had expected a somewhat more evil name, and had secretly taken to referring to the animal as the spawn of Satan. ‘Scorpius-’ James pulled a face at the mention of who he considered his nemesis ‘-is expecting her back.’
‘I’m sure the extra couple of hours wait won’t harm him adversely.’ Albus looked even more downcast, shuffling his feet and jiggling the cage nervously, only stopping when the bird gave his finger a warning nip.
‘It’s not just that,’ he admitted cautiously. ‘I, well….’ Harry couldn’t help the impatient sigh as Albus stared resolutely at the floor, the words finally coming out pained and mumbled. ‘I think Mr. Malfoy might want to speak with you.’
Harry didn’t think the wince had been visible to his children. ‘Then you had better behave, don’t you think?’ He hid his discomfort beneath his annoyance, unsure if this was better or worse than what he had expected. He had figured, or rather hoped, that Albus would ask if his friend could visit or be visited, and then that the two children would to run back and forth across the platform relaying messages that meant the two adults never actually had to speak to each other. But if Draco wanted to speak to him personally then so be it.
At least his children had finally nodded in agreement, albeit sullen agreement, as Harry turned to ruffle his daughter’s hair. She sniffled a bit still, her eyes large and red, but she no longer looked as if life itself were over. ‘We’ll get you a frog,’ he offered, earning himself a small smile. ‘And perhaps when you come back home you’ll have some real spawn.’ Hopefully the animal would be less of a menace than Trevor had managed to be all those years ago at Hogwarts; hopefully Ginny wouldn’t be too mad at him for making a snap decision and not consulting her first. He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure which decisions were the sort that had to be made jointly.
‘You mean it’ll actually grow?’ Lily teased cheekily, although she followed it with a long sniff that set his teeth on edge.
‘Of course.’ Her smile had gotten bigger as she dragged the back of her hand across her nose. Even Ginny looked mildly disgusted at her daughter’s behaviour, not least because she still clutched a rather bedraggled tissue in her other hand. ‘I might even let you release them down at the stream.’ He let his voice turn stern, waggling a finger under Lily’s nose with feigned severity. ‘Provided you promise never to mention my shoddy spell work to the Headmistress. I don’t fancy being blackmailed into repeating my fifth year.’
Even Ginny chuckled at this, her hand brushing his arm supportively. Glancing towards the two boys, who had yet to once again start fighting, she whispered a quick thanks in his ear before returning her attention to the pile of trunks, animal cages and miscellaneous items that had been dragged along for the trip, ushering the children into actually doing something helpful. Harry wasn’t entirely sure if he was being thanked for dealing with them, for holding back from strangling them, or for simply making it possible that the farewell could be pleasant instead of harassed. He gave himself smug credit for all three though, hurrying James along behind the others, sure he had only been lagging back with the intent to do something nasty.
It was as they approached the barrier between platform nine and ten that Harry realised his earlier mistake. The two figures stood in almost exactly the same spot that he had when faced with a seemingly impossible set of directions at age eleven. The man didn’t seem so much confused as he did hateful though, and the expression certainly helped explain Harry’s previous error. He had seen that exact same look many times in the past. But as it turned out, it wasn’t actually his Uncle Vernon he had seen at the station. Dudley just happened to look even more remarkably like his father. There was a small girl at his side and a trunk leaning against the nearby wall, the Hogwarts crest clearly visible on its polished brown surface.
He didn’t realise how much his pace had slowed until Ginny was so far ahead he couldn’t have stopped her even if he had the sense to do so. He was too gobsmacked anyway, waiting for what he was sure was a hallucination to melt in front of his very eyes as he ducked behind a pillar in a moment of sheer and absolute cowardice.
‘You must be Muggleborn, right?’ Ginny had launched straight in with her usual aplomb, although her tone was friendly and helpful. It took a second for Harry to realise that she had never met any of his family, and therefore had absolutely no idea who she was talking to. ‘Do you need some help getting on to the platform? You have to walk through the wall just down here. It can be a bit tricky your first time. Well, I say tricky, but for you it’s probably downright scary.’
‘Stupid, more like,’ Dudley grunted, as Ginny’s forehead creased slightly at his tone. She recovered quickly, smiling brightly as she ushered Lily forward.
‘This is my little girl,’ she said, turning her attention from Dudley to his daughter. Harry almost gasped as he looked at her closer. Lily had the flaming red hair of her mother, but the small girl had the slightly softer tones Harry had only seen before in pictures of a long dead woman. Evidently the girl had inherited more from her great aunt than just magic. ‘It must be your first year too, right?’ The girl nodded shyly. ‘Then perhaps you can help each other to settle in. What’s your name?’ Harry didn’t catch the mumbled response over the pounding in his ears, but evidently Ginny did as she ploughed onwards, completely heedless to the glares Dudley was casting her way. ‘Well, it is nice to meet you, Claire. This is Lily, and I am almost sure her brothers have filled her head with enough nonsense that she actually has no idea what to expect either.’ Claire looked nervous, but made no move to argue or contradict Ginny, stuttering a nervous hello when Lily launched herself into a heated diatribe. If Harry knew his daughter then her new friend was probably already receiving an earful as to why no one should ever have to be born with brothers.
And he was going to have to move forward soon. Even if Ginny hadn’t yet noticed his stalling, James and Albus no doubt shortly would and then use it to their advantage.
‘So…’ Ginny stood up straight to face Dudley again. ‘Did you want to come through with us? Either myself or my husband will be able to tell you everything you need to know for future years, that is if he ever gets here.’ Ginny was looking round for him now, frowning as she caught sight of James and Albus, whose bickering was already starting to pick up. Knowing there was no way to avoid it he took a deep breath and stepped forward.
‘Hello, Dudley.’
To his benefit Dudley didn’t jump, or look even the least bit surprised. ‘Harry,’ he greeted tersely. ‘Wondered if I’d see you here. Should have guessed when I heard her name.’ He gestured with his beefy fist to Lily as Harry wondered how on earth Dudley had managed to make the connection. Petunia had refused to speak of her sister to Harry himself, and he could not imagine her being any more forthcoming to her own son. Clearly uncomfortable with the lack of response he was receiving, Dudley’s eyes had strayed to where James and Albus were surreptitiously trying to sabotage each other’s belongings. ‘They all yours?’ he asked, more to fill the oppressive silence than anything else.
‘You know him?’ Ginny interrupted indignantly before Harry could answer.
‘Yeah.’ He had finally found his voice and his tone was less than thrilled, but it wasn’t as if either of them had expected a happy family reunion. They may have parted on slightly more amicable terms than either of them was comfortable with, but for all his delayed concern Dudley had never made any move to contact his cousin. Not that Harry had made any more than a few cursory inquiries to verify his only living family had survived the war, but the effort, he felt, should not have had to come from him. ‘This is Dudley, my cousin.’
‘Your cousin…’ Ginny said with sudden understanding, her gaze hardening. She didn’t know everything, not by a long shot, but she knew enough. Lily, in contrast, knew nothing and therefore looked completely enthralled by the revelation. Harry’s apparent lack of family had always upset her for reasons beyond a few missing presents at Christmas, and a school project had once brought her home with the names of Potter grandparents and great grandparents Harry had never even given a thought to finding. Harry hadn’t had the heart to stop her when the project culminated in the creation of a family tree that bore a remarkable cursory resemblance to the one Sirius had been blasted from, and he had held back from doing some blasting of his own. Petunia had somehow made it onto the abstract depiction, married to a question mark Harry hadn’t been able to bring himself to correct. Compared to the Weasley half of the tree, the Potter portion had looked pretty pathetic; compared to that the Evans part had been non-existent. Having been brought up in such a large, expansive family, Lily struggled to grasp the possibility of Harry’s own, lonely childhood.
Clearly Dudley had been no more forthcoming to his own offspring, since Claire was looking up at him with similar unhidden fascination and…longing.
It looked to him to be the sort of longing he knew all to well; the sort of longing he himself had experienced when he had rescued Sirius from Dementors and realised, however briefly, that perhaps he had somewhere else to go.
And all of sudden Harry noticed just how small the girl was next to Lily.
‘What did you do to her?’ he growled without warning, causing Dudley to back up a step at the ferocity in his voice and Claire to jump anxiously. His cowed demeanour didn’t last as he scowled in reply.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Dudley bit back just as angrily as Harry’s insinuations sank in.
‘You didn’t lock her in a cupboard, starve her, try to beat the magic out of her?’ He had drawn his wand, Muggles be damned. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t Obliviate the lot of them. Dudley just frowned when he saw it, with none of the usual terror the object had tended to herald in the past.
‘She’s my daughter.’ He just looked dangerous himself now, imposing and genuinely insulted. Although Dudley had his father’s girth, it was balanced with his mother’s height and when he pulled himself upright it was quite impressive to watch.
‘And I was your cousin, so excuse me if I don’t believe the bond of family means that much to you.’
‘She has a bedroom, all right.’ Dudley’s voice was defensively tight, his cheeks stained red with anger. ‘Painted it pink for her myself. And she gets fed, three meals a day...proper, healthy ones. She’s my daughter,’ he repeated the words emphatically, a beefy hand shaking at his side that belied the apparently calmer tone of his words. ‘You can ask her mother when she gets back. Had to go off to try to find one of your lot though, didn’t she.’ Dudley narrowed his eyes, his old hatred shining through as he jabbed a finger towards Harry’s stomach. ‘You give us this stupid platform, but no directions, and expect us to try to walk through bloody walls.’ Harry was about to jump to the defence of his world when he remembered, again, that just the same had been expected of him. He, at least, had had the decency to be polite when someone had offered to help him.
‘No one spoke to you?’ He controlled himself enough so that the question sounded more curious than accusatory.
‘Some woman came round,’ Dudley spat in disgust. ‘Claimed she was the Headmistress.’ Harry privately cursed Minerva for not warning him, or dropping even the tiniest of hints. ‘Spent enough time going on about you, didn’t she, how lucky Claire was to be related to you, how she should prepare herself for when everyone found out. Soon put her to rights about that, let me tell you.’ Harry had lowered his wand at the sudden influx of information. Dudley could certainly carry a rant like his father. He almost didn’t ask the question that first came to him, afraid he knew the answer all too well.
‘What did you say?’
‘What do you think?’ Dudley glowered, although the initial wave of his anger seemed to have passed into the old seething resentment Harry was more familiar with. ‘Said I didn’t want anyone knowing about our relationship to the bloody hero you are supposed to be. Didn’t really want Claire going at all, but you lot certainly don’t have a problem scaring decent folks with all your horror stories ‘bout accidental magic and the like.’ Dudley was peering round the platform before he finished his sentence, standing on the tips of his toes to get a better look, for his wife, Harry assumed. He didn’t spot her, if his expression of annoyance was anything to go by, as he turned back to Harry. ‘Mum thinks you cursed me, by the way,’ he dropped the remark as though he were commenting on the weather.
‘Cursed you?’ The conversation was definitely spiralling out of Harry’s control as he fought to contribute something more than a disbelieving question. ‘What the hell with?’
‘Her.’ Dudley, to Harry’s nausea, gestured to where his daughter was standing, out of earshot now since Ginny had effectively harried them all to a safe distance. He was immeasurably thankful to her for that, since he was known for lacking discretion when angry, and he doubted Dudley had ever known the meaning of the word. He didn’t want his own children hearing any of this, let alone Claire. He wondered, briefly and disgustedly, whether Dudley ever referred to his daughter so dismissively to her face, and felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling angrily again. Were it not for the fact that the little girl kept looking back to her father with obvious worry, Dudley would have found himself unable to walk home.
‘How dare she, how dare you!’
‘Oh, come off it,’ Dudley sneered. With practise it could have rivalled Snape’s. ‘Look at her; she certainly didn’t get that hair from me or her mother. Came with the magic, didn’t it.’
Harry was almost beyond words. ‘It…it doesn’t work like that,’ he managed to stutter around his astonishment at the blame being thrust at him so unfairly. When had the Dursleys ever treated him fairly though, or even shown the ability to display the slightest rational thought where he was concerned? ‘It’s genetics, you know, magic is recessive or something, and rare….’
Dudley didn’t look convinced. ‘You try telling that to Mum, yeah. She can hardly but look at Claire without thinking of her sister. Makes her cry sometimes, even.’ Harry was aware he was standing, somewhat stupidly, with his mouth agape. Something cold and furious was building behind his eyes.
‘Does she…’ Harry didn’t have time to finish the question, the flush of rage returning to Dudley’s cheeks.
‘How many times d’you want me to say it?’ he challenged, jabbing his podgy finger back into Harry’s stomach in a way that made him feel five years old again. He had to put conscious effort into not cursing the blubbery prat from the platform. ‘Claire gets everything she wants, right. It’s not like I would deny her, not with all she has to suffer thanks to you.’ And it was slowly dawning on Harry that his cousin was being completely and absolutely sincere; that he honestly believed Harry to be at fault for his magical progeny. ‘Had to get back at us though, didn’t you. Mum was right, you always were ungrateful.’
‘Oh yes, thank you for providing me with your left over food and the ample space of a storage cupboard for so many years.’ Harry gritted his teeth and dropped his voice regardless of the fact that he had already erected a silencing spell around the both of them. Volume just seemed beyond him now as the reasons for his concerns leapt back to the front of his mind. ‘Would you care to explain to me how she wound up so much smaller than all the other children her age, or did I curse her with stunted growth too?’
If anything, the comment just enraged Dudley further and to the extent that a defensive stunner was hovering on Harry’s lips at the exact moment a hand appeared on his cousin’s shoulder. He hadn’t noticed the woman approach, despite the fact that the small nod of assurance she sent Ginny indicated the two had spoken already. But then again there wasn’t anything particularly noticeable about her and he was somewhat distracted. She was pretty enough, he supposed, and Claire was fortunate enough to have inherited more of her features than her father’s, but she certainly couldn’t have accounted for the hair. She pushed a strand of her own, thin and a light brown, behind her ear as she regarded first Dudley, then Harry, with an appraising glance. ‘You’d be the mysterious cousin then,’ she said finally, with no hint of the hatred that Dudley so clearly and obviously felt. ‘Claire has practically worshipped you since the moment she read about you, and you certainly seem to appear in a number of her texts.’
Harry felt the familiar blush of shame creeping up his neck at the sudden knowledge that he had misread the young girls’ earlier expression so completely. It wasn’t as if he didn’t see it enough on every child who had heard his name. Dudley just looked infuriatingly smug at Harry’s obvious discomfort, putting an arm round his wife’s generous waist and planting a kiss on her temple. ‘Harry, this is Emily,’ he said with a smirk before turning his attention back to the woman. ‘Harry here wants to know how come Claire wound up so small.’ His wife was oblivious, but Harry clearly heard the accusation in the question.
Emily, on the other hand, instantly looked over to her child with a sad smile. ‘We didn’t mean too,’ she said in a way that renewed Harry’s earlier anxiety, if only for a moment. The possible implications of the words were drowned out by the pain in her voice though. ‘But we didn’t know, about the magic, that is.’ Her teeth worried a knuckle habitually. ‘I mean, it’s never shown up in my family before that I know of, and neither Dudley nor Petunia mentioned you. I mean, who would ever worry about such a thing?’ Emily’s gaze had been dragged back to her daughter for confirmation of something untenable, as Harry felt his stomach turn with something akin to guilt. Claire herself was torn between the abundant chatter of her newest friend and the weight of the uncomfortable stares from both her mother and Harry himself. She didn’t pause for more than a second when Emily gestured for her to join them, the hesitation only lasting as long as it took her to muster up the courage to grab Lily by the wrist and tow her along.
‘Mum, I made a new friend already, but you have to promise not to have any more children while I’m away, okay?’ It all came out in a rush of mingled happiness and childish anxiety as Dudley ran a hand through the hair that seemed to have started it all. He wondered if Dudley, or even Petunia, would have managed to cope with just that, or if it would still have been seen as a parting gift from their hated relative without the magic to further rub it in. Ginny had taken the gesture as an open invitation and also joined them to stand at Harry’s side. He was grateful for it, although his thoughts returned suddenly to his sons and the potential chaos they were no doubt planning to wreak, his head snapping round in anticipation of catching them up to no good. Ginny’s hand sliding into his soothed his worries, however, as she smiled at him in a way that confirmed she had taken care of it all, at least for the moment. Whatever it was she had threatened them with had to have been good, since both of them were standing quietly next to the nearest pillar.
‘We thought it was chickenpox when she first started showing symptoms,’ Emily continued, drawing Harry’s attention back to the oddly mismatched set she and Dudley made. But then again perhaps they did match, once Harry looked past his cousin’s hatred towards him and instead concentrated on his devotion to his wife and daughter. He felt a surge of resentment that he had never managed to fit into such a picture perfect Dursley family scene, but quashed it with the thought that for all they had hated him, it was that hatred that seemed to allow Dudley and his mother to accept and love the very essence of what they so despised. He could live with the blame, if it kept it away from the small girl. ‘It was going around at the time, and we were just relieved to get it out the way.’
‘It was dragon pox though, wasn’t it?’ Ginny inserted suddenly. ‘I did think so, when I first saw her, but you hardly see it anymore.’
Harry felt himself floundering. ‘Don’t see what?’ Ginny looked surprised at his ignorance, Dudley just looked condescending.
‘It used to happen a lot when Mum was at school,’ Ginny explained. ‘Muggles mistake it for chickenpox, but this one doesn’t go away on its own. Simple enough to cure, the potion can be brewed by any first year. Even Neville could probably do it.
Harry voiced the silent amended his wife had made. ‘If you get it in time.’
‘Well, yes.’ Ginny looked uncomfortable.
‘And if you don’t?’
Ginny sighed. ‘Limited growth is the most common problem. Mum told me you occasionally saw worse though. Sometimes, if it is left too long, you can’t cure the disease at all. It just kind of lingers.’ She looked back to Claire and then up to Dudley. ‘You were lucky.’
‘Lucky?’ Dudley exploded. ‘You call this lucky? We nearly lost her, you know, and all because of your stupid, stupid magic.’
‘It shouldn’t happen anymore.’ Ginny looked horribly upset. ‘Dragonpox is almost non-existent amongst Muggles. We vaccinate against it. There shouldn’t even be any carriers.’
‘Yeah, look at Claire again and tell me about this ‘almost’,’ Dudley snarled.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘Nothing!’ His own voice reverberating back to him from the high ceiling had Dudley fumbling to regain some control. Claire had placed a small hand on his knee, and Dudley smiled down at her. Harry wondered how often she had heard a similar rant in order to have such a limited reaction to it. ‘There is nothing you can say that I would want to hear,’ he said softly, turning round to heave the trunk from against the wall. ‘You gonna show us this mysterious wall walking skill of yours, then? Claire’s been looking forward to this all summer, haven’t you?’ The girl was bouncing on her heels, nodding frantically. ‘We promised her we’d get here early so she could get the best spot on the train. Don’t make me a liar.’
Harry nodded and numbly beckoned for his sons to follow. At some point he had placed his own hand on Lily’s shoulder, and he just hoped his grip hadn’t hurt her. She seemed unfazed as she shot her own brilliant smile up at him, ducking out of his half embrace and leaping the couple of steps ahead so that she was level with the newest Dursleys. Instead of stopping by Claire, as Harry had expected, she instead gave a small tug to the back of Dudley’s chequered shirt.
‘Excuse me, Mr. Dursley, sir.’ Harry held his breath and his wand as Dudley’s expression shifted through a myriad of emotions. He may have accepted, and even learnt to love Claire, but Lily was no more to him than the daughter of his hated cousin, named for his hated aunt; the living embodiment of every petty abhorrence Petunia had instilled on her son.
‘Yes?’ he eventually replied, voice tense and strained.
‘If you want…’ Lily just looked overly excited, and Harry marvelled at the obliviousness of youth. ‘Well, Claire can sit with me, if you don’t mind. James has told me all about it, and he promised to help me get the best carriage even if Malfoy tries to steal it from him again. She can share my chocolate frog.’ Harry found his mind drifting to the inevitable encounter his youngest son had managed to arrange for him with, presumably, the father to the Malfoy just mentioned. Remarkably that encounter now seemed less ominous in comparison to the new one he could see forming in the near future.
And as Dudley shifted the weight of the trunk so he could better kneel down to Lily’s height, Harry felt a large knot in his stomach unwind at the overwhelming evidence that Claire did, in fact, get everything she wanted. Including the friends she chose, no matter who they were or who they brought with them. ‘That would be wonderful,’ he said gruffly, further inspired as his daughter threw her arms round his large neck in appreciation. ‘Thank you very much.’
It wasn’t right, but it worked.
The barrier engulfed them all easily, spilling them onto the noisy platform. Harry helped heft his son’s trunks into a cabin just down from the one James had dedicated, and was even now guarding for Lily. Ginny was running through the usual checklist of children, pets and belongings, and Emily was staring with fascination at the careless magic being tossed about with ease. Dudley, however, had eyes only for his daughter, and Harry tried not to stare as he held her gently and whispered something in her ear, earning himself a small giggle and a peck on the cheek. Emily was the next to embrace her daughter, tearfully holding her close as Harry realised, with a pang, how much harder it had to be for Muggle parents. For him Hogwarts was only ever a fireplace away. But for Muggles it was an indefinite entity, a place they could never find on their own, no matter the need. They were sacrificing their children to the great unknown, putting all their trust into something they knew nothing about.
Albus had already disappeared, no doubt to find Scorpius and finally escape his brother. James was watching every shadow and corner for the possible emergence of evil, namely said Scorpius. The train whistle was even blowing before he knew it, and Lily was leaning out the window, shouting, ‘Don’t forget the frog,’ whilst next to her Claire smiled and waved to her parents, who smiled and waved back.
And in a gust of steam and cloud of smoke, they were gone. Suddenly Hogwarts felt a lot further away than it had ever before; the time until Christmas spread out to an eternity. Ginny cuddled up next to him, arms round his waist and breath hot on the side of his neck, her warmth reassuring even as cold words assaulted him from behind.
‘Congratulations, Potter.’ Harry turned to face Dudley, whose face was a mottled purple with fury. ‘I hope you’re happy now. Never figured you as one for revenge, but you and your stupid world managed to steal my daughter anyway.’ Harry didn’t have an argument for that. It was a ridiculous sentiment made even worse by the fact that Harry could see exactly how it did equate to theft, at least in the eyes of Dudley, whose daughter was now as far from him as Harry could imagine, separated by a gulf almost completely impassable. The Dursleys had stolen his childhood, and their embittered minds could not conceive of him doing anything less than that back to them. ‘You better see to it that I get her back.’ A final, snarled warning and Dudley had swept away before Harry could even respond, Ron stepping in to fill the gap he had left.
‘Was that…’
‘Don’t ask,’ Ginny cut her brother off, nudging Harry in the ribs as she pointed to the far end of the station. Dudley may have heralded a multitude of future difficulties, but that didn’t stop the flow of those of the present. Harry sighed when he saw who was standing there, bracing his shoulders.
‘Best get it over with,’ he commented dejectedly, as Ginny gave his hand a final squeeze, and Ron buffered his pride with a conciliatory pat on the back. Children, it turned out, could force the building of many bridges believed beyond repair.
‘You wanted to speak with me?’ Harry managed to keep his tone neutral, and Malfoy started to sneer a response, and then tried to stop. The resultant expression was amusing.
‘I wouldn’t say I wanted to talk to you,’ Draco said with aloofness instead. It was a relief to know that he felt no more comfortable with the exchange than Harry did himself. ‘My son, however, doesn’t feel I should have a choice in the matter.’
Harry sighed. ‘Mine neither.’