August passed in a strange blur. Days, sometimes even a week, would pass by in a flash, but once Harry noticed how fast the time moved, it would slow down and drag for hours or days on end. He couldn’t decide if he was excited or just nervous about going to Hogwarts. Only the Muggle-borns wouldn’t know who he was, and everyone else would probably be more than happy to fill them in. Before, he had always been able to come home to escape his fame, but at Hogwarts, he wouldn’t have that luxury. James had said that he would live in a dormitory with the other boys in his year and House. At the moment, Harry didn’t much like the idea.
His snowy owl swooped in and out as she pleased, though her favourite roost was Harry’s room. He had decided to name her Hedwig, a name he found in A History of Magic, and she got along very well with James’s Great Horned owl Merlin. There were disadvantages to having his own owl, though, he thought one night as Hedwig dropped a dead mouse right on top of the open copy of A Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 in front of him. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Hedwig,” he said, picking it up by its tail and moving to the window, “but I don’t eat mice.” She hooted irritably at him as he dropped it out the window. “I do that every time you bring one back, stop acting surprised.”
Harry found his school books very interesting, but after the first time James poked fun at him for studying before he even got to school, he kept to himself whenever he opened one. (James had tried to disguise it as being a good father and impressed that his son was so studious, but Harry wasn’t fooled.)
Of course, James had no intention of just quietly letting his son go off to Hogwarts. They spent most of August spending time together, and James told him all kinds of stories about his time at the school of magic.
“We knew the school better than anyone,” he said one night, the two of them sitting by the fire after dinner. “Even the old caretaker, though he’d never admit it. There was supposed to be a curfew, mind, but none of us really cared. We got in a fair bit of trouble sometimes when we got caught, but that just made it more fun. You know, we used to sneak down in our later years and join Remus on the full moons. We all became Animagi while we were still in school, but technically no one knows that.”
“‘We all’?” Harry asked, curious. “But Uncle Remus is already a werewolf....”
“Ah.... No, it was me, Sirius, and Peter Pettigrew. The four of us.” Harry opened his mouth to ask James what the matter was because his dad suddenly looked very grave, but James moved on quickly to tell a story about the time he and Sirius had snuck into the Forbidden Forest to see the centaurs. “Hagrid had mentioned them to us,” he said, “but we wanted to see for ourselves. Of course, he wasn’t too pleased with us when he found us out there. After hours, you see, and the Forbidden Forest is, quite obviously, out of bounds....” Harry was swept up in the story of the centaurs and quite interested in why they didn’t like humans very much.
He was already in bed before he remembered his question, but he decided not to ask again. James just didn’t like talking about some things, and that must be one of them.
Sirius and Brenna joined them on occasion. Sometimes just Brenna, though every time she showed up by herself Harry got the sneaking suspicion that he and James were on babysitting duty. She seemed to have taken it as a personal insult that Harry was leaving to Hogwarts without her and made it her mission to make him feel as guilty as possible about it.
Harry, for his part, ignored every one of these attempts just to annoy her.
James and Harry played catch with a Quaffle out in an old field not far from home. The first time they did, Harry flew around the field and looped up in the air, testing out his new broom.
James flew up to join him. “So? How’s it handle?”
“Better than yours,” Harry called back, grinning.
“I like my old girl.” James patted the handle of his Silver Tail. “She’s served me well all these years, and she knows just how I like to fly.”
“We gonna play or not?”
“Waiting on you!” On the last word, he pulled the Quaffle out where he’d been hiding it in the crook of his arm and the folds of his red robes and threw it at Harry. Surprised, but used to this from his dad, he caught it, and the game began.
They liked to keep it ambiguous. It was never really certain at any point whether they were Chasers on the same team, or a Chaser and Keeper on opposing teams. The ball might go flying right into their arms or shooting past them at invisible goal posts. James said this was for three reasons. First, to keep him on his toes. Second, because then he could intercept a Quaffle if it was going to a Chaser on the other team. And third, “Because in the heat of the game, that ball might’ve been meant for you, but the Chaser who threw it just screwed up.”
Though his favourite position to play was Seeker, that was only if they had enough people. Here, just with his dad, Harry didn’t care what he played.
“Hey, Dad?” Harry called after throwing the Quaffle a couple hours into their game. “How come you don’t play for a professional Quidditch team or something?”
“Never really thought about it, I guess,” he said, not pausing the game for their conversation. “When I left school, I had more important things to do, and then I was raising you. Being a single father and running all over the country and continent for Quidditch matches don’t match up well.”
“I guess. I wouldn’t have minded, though,” Harry added. “I think it would be cool to have my dad be on a professional Quidditch team.”
“Like publicity, do you?”
Harry flushed, nearly fumbling the ball. “That’s not what I meant!” he called, trying to keep his hands on the red Quaffle. “Gotcha,” he muttered, tucking the ball in the crook of his arm. His eyes slid past it to the ground far below, and he quickly sat straight again. That was a little too close to falling for comfort.
“I don’t think I’d like it, anyway,” James said, brushing his fingers through his hair to try and get his bangs out of his eyes. Not that it helped with the wind so strong up there. “Quidditch is something I do for fun, always have. Even in school, when it all came down to it, it was just a game. But people make such a big deal out of the professional sport. They suck all the fun out of it”turn it into a job.”
“It would be nice to play with enough people for once.” Harry grinned. “I almost never get to play Seeker.”
“You’re gonna be brilliant, Harry.”
Harry grinned for the rest of the afternoon.
He kept putting off packing during the last week of August, still wavering between excitement and nerves. So, when August 31 dawned, the only things packed in his trunk were his school supplies from Diagon Alley that he hadn’t pulled out to use, like his cauldron or his black robes. He looked glumly at the half-empty trunk before going down to breakfast, wishing it could be over and done with and wishing he had another month at home.
“Hey, Dad?” he said at the table, poking idly at his toast. “D’you think I’ll get any friends at Hogwarts?”
“Wha’?” James frowned, swallowing the sausage in his mouth. “What d’you mean, Harry? Of course you will.”
“No. I mean, real friends.” He didn’t look up at his dad. “Like Brenna and Uncle Sirius....”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Well....” He struggled with words for a moment, then just glumly pointed at his forehead.
“Harry,” James said gently. He got up and put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “All right, listen to me.” He adopted a rather grand tone, as if announcing the presence of the Minister of Magic. “You, Harry Potter, are incredibly famous and well-known, have been almost all your life, and people admire and love you.”
Harry shrank. Thanks, Dad, this is helping....
“But,” James continued in a softer, fond tone, squeezing Harry’s shoulders, “you’re also my son. You are a young wizard about to go off to Hogwarts like many other young wizards have and will. You will simply have your first impression already taken care of, in a way, for better or worse.” James shifted to kneel next to Harry’s chair so Harry had to look at him. “And you have the advantage of knowing what true friends are like. Trust me; you’ll be able to spot them a mile away.”
“I guess.” Harry wasn’t entirely convinced, but he did feel a bit better. Being just one of many would be nice.
“Hogwarts will be great, just you wait and see,” James said, standing and ruffling Harry’s mop of black hair.
Reflexively, Harry ducked, trying to flatten his hair with one hand. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “Right, Dad, go on and ruin it by treating me like a kid.”
“Aw,” James said, puckering his lips to increase the goo-goo voice and trying to pinch Harry’s cheek, “but you’ll always be my widdle boy, Hawwy!”
“Agh! Geroff!”
They tussled for a moment, until Harry gave up on pushing his dad away and instead slipped out of his chair and fled the kitchen, laughing. “Come back here!” James shouted, pursuing him all the way down the hall, around the staircase, and out the door into the backyard. Harry was on the point of opening the door to the shed and getting his broom out when James caught him, and they tumbled through the dewy grass together, both still in their pyjamas, glasses askew, and leaves in their hair.
“Dad!” Harry tried to talk through laughing, but he couldn’t quit squirming even though it didn’t help stop the tickling any. “Dad, stoppit! The grass is wet!”
“Well, that’s your fault for coming out here, then, innit?” James said, laughing triumphantly, but he did let his son up, offering a hand for the small, panting boy, and together, they went back inside.
Harry spent the morning playing games with his father, but a little after one, James snuck up behind him and slipped a blindfold over his eyes. “Hey!” Harry tried to pull it off, but his dad stopped him.
“It’s a surprise. This is to make sure you don’t peek.”
“I won’t peek,” Harry assured him, but nothing doing, the blindfold stayed on. “Do I at least get to know where we’re going?”
“Nope,” James said brightly, and Harry found his hands guided to hold onto what felt like his father’s arm. “Just hold on very tight so you actually get there, and you’ll see in a moment.” Sensing what was about to happen, Harry tightened his grip just before the arm tried to twist away from him, and then the uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed through a small rubber tube engulfed his body. He stumbled once it went away, shaking his head. However much quicker or more convenient it may be, Harry was not going to be using Apparition much even after he was seventeen if he could help it.
James began walking, and Harry followed, still holding onto his arm. Once, he tried again to remove the blindfold, but James grabbed his hand. “Didn’t I say no peeking?”
The soft tapping of their footsteps said they walked on the pavement of a street, but then it shifted to crunching, his feet slipping a little instead of planting solidly as they shifted to gravel. A door opened somewhere ahead to the sound of stifled giggling, and Harry knew where they were. But he didn’t say anything. He let himself be guided through the door, the familiar vague scent of cinnamon tickling his nostrils. James finally stopped and pulled the blindfold off.
Harry stood in the centre of a room decorated with balloons crowding the ceiling and cinnamon-scented candles sitting upon the mantelpiece over the fireplace and on carved wooden coffee tables and end tables. A big banner hung across the wall he was facing with “Hogwarts or Bust” painted on it in bright green ink the colour of his eyes. Sirius, Remus, James, Brenna, and Kiara surrounded him, some sitting on the squashy black love seat or in an armchair and others standing, all grinning at him. “Surprise!” they shouted together, Brenna jumping up and down and squealing, Sirius pumping the air with a fist.
They spent the afternoon having a party at the Black house, several of them with going-away gifts for Harry. Kiara Black, a nice but somewhat scatter-brained woman with curly brown hair and perpetual ink-stains on her fingers, gave him some spell-correcting ink and some that would write in his favourite colour”whatever it happened to be at the moment, she said with a wink. Harry was just contemplating the concept of mind-reading ink bottles when Brenna came over (with a real gift this time instead of the kiss on his birthday) to give him a book bag decorated on the flap with the blue and yellow crest of Puddlemere United, Harry’s Quidditch team.
The afternoon disappeared into a haze of food, sweets, jokes, and stories. Harry’s nerves disappeared entirely in the whirl of activity and company, but as the sun went down and the party started to wrap up, he realized that this would be the last time in a long while before he saw most of these people again. Tomorrow morning, James would take him to the train station, and then it would be Christmas before Harry would even see him again. They waved and said their goodbyes, using the fireplace to go back home now that Harry didn’t need to be kept in the dark. The sitting room looked dark and empty when he stepped into it despite the flickering light of the flames behind him, and Harry felt a wave of loneliness.
James put his arm around Harry’s shoulders and guided him up the stairs to his own room. “One last thing before you go to bed,” he said, letting go to step into his closet for a moment. “I might need it back sometimes, but for the most part, I think it’s high time it passed on to you. After all, I had it while I was in school.”
“Dad, what’re you talking about?” Harry asked, but James just stepped out of the closet holding a bundle in his arms which he handed to Harry.
It wasn’t as solid as it had seemed, and he had to catch part of it that tried to slip, liquid-like, to the ground. Instead of a bundle, it was all a piece of cloth, shimmering silver, which felt like it had air sewn in with the thread. “What’s this?”
“My Invisibility Cloak.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “You have an Invisibility Cloak?” he asked, staring at his father as if he’d never quite seen him before.
“Not anymore I don’t,” James said, grinning. “You do. I am passing it on to you, Harry. Use it wisely.” And he winked.
All in all, Harry’s mind was buzzing as he climbed into bed that night, too full of party crackers and castles to settle down for sleep. As so often happened on the night before something important, he tossed and turned on his bed, the moonlight picking out the scar upon his forehead. His thoughts drifted seamlessly in and out of dreams, pulling him from his bedroom to the street outside, draped in an Invisibility Cloak, to an enormous stone hall with four long tables and surrounded with ghosts....
He realized he was awake again as the sun peeked over the horizon. With a groan, he rolled away from his window and tried to get some more sleep, but though his eyes were bleary and stuck together, he could not drift away. At last, he sat up and decided to finally finish packing so he wouldn’t be late to the train.
Though he picked his room apart looking for things and occasionally asked the advice of Hedwig who was settling in for a day’s sleep, it did not take him long to put everything together, and it was still hours before they would leave.
Harry decided to go for a walk.
He tossed his pyjamas into the trunk as well, pulled on clothes and shoes for the day, and paused in front of the mirror. In just a few hours, he would be getting onto a train with a lot of other kids, all of whom he would be spending nine months with, and most of whom would know who he was as soon as they clapped eyes on the pale white scar on his forehead. Nervously, he tried to flatten his bangs over it. If only he knew a concealing spell.... Not forever, just long enough for people to have first impressions that didn’t involve gawping at his forehead. He tried using a comb to brush his bangs down, but not only did they not stay, it made his hair look more lop-sided than usual, so he combed it back the way it had been.
In one last-ditch effort, he went into the washroom and tried slicking his hair down with water, but it only made him look like he just got out of the shower, his bangs plastered over his forehead. Even though water was dripping down his face, the ends were still curling out a bit as the water already began to dry.
Giving up, he went down the stairs and out the front door, looking up at the clear morning sky and sighing softly. James had all kinds of wonderful things to say about Hogwarts and the classes and all that, but Harry just didn’t know what to expect despite all the stories. He just didn’t feel much like his dad, he thought as he wandered down the street, not sure where he was going. He didn’t know that he would like sneaking off into the Forbidden Forest just to see centaurs who didn’t like humans. He didn’t want to attract everyone’s attention with how brilliant he was”he just wanted to be a kid going to school. Harry rubbed his damp forehead, feeling the little bump of his scar. People could get used to a lot of things. Maybe they would all get used to him. It was a thought.
His feet headed down the street without him having to lead them, and before he knew where he was, gravestones surrounded him like silent gray sentinels in the morning light, faded and worn. He did not question it, did not stop it, and knew exactly where he was going without having to direct it at all. A white marble gravestone stood in front of him, carved with the name of his mother. Harry felt empty for some reason, standing there in front of the grave of a woman who had affected his life so much but whom he had never met. Inscribed beneath the date of her death were the words “Love is the essence of all living.” It felt somehow wrong to him. He always felt that he loved his mother but just because that was what it seemed he should do. He only knew her through stories James told him, the pictures on the mantelpiece, and a cold white stone marker inscribed with her name.
“I’m going to Hogwarts today, Mum,” he said, his voice sounding far away to his ears, as if someone across the graveyard spoke instead of him. “Dad’s been saying you’d be proud of me. I guess you would.” He hesitated, feeling strange talking to some uncaring bit of earth simply because it had a stone marked over it with his mother’s name on it. He wondered what he would say if his mother really was standing in front of him. Maybe how scared he really was, how unimportant and insignificant he felt and how much he wished everyone else would get the idea and bugger off. But this was just a patch of dirt, how could he say things like that to it? It would just lie there no matter what he said or did.
“I thought you might be here.” A hand squeezed his shoulder gently, and Harry looked up to see James standing next to him, looking at the gravestone. Harry quickly wiped tears he only just realised were there from his eyes and looked at the gravestone, too. They stood in silence for a long moment, father and son and mother, and Harry started wondering if he could maybe pretend she was there. He had a picture of her in his mind, smiling and happy, from the photographs on the mantel, but when he tried to see her standing in front of him, he only felt sad.
“Why did she have to die, Dad?” Harry asked after a long moment, not taking his eyes off the carved name.
“I really don’t know,” James said, his voice quieter and deeper than usual. Older. Tired. “A lot of stupid things happen during wars, and not many of them make much sense. A lot of stupid people doing stupid things.”
Harry looked up at his dad to see a tear running down James’s cheek. Harry felt like an intruder in another person’s world, looking up at his father, so he looked quickly away and pretended not to see anything, hoping the feeling would leave. He didn’t belong here. This was a grave for James who actually knew Lily and loved her. Not for Harry.
“Always do what you feel you have to do, Harry,” James continued. “No matter what. Inevitably, sometimes, things just won’t work out the way you hoped they would, but there’s nothing you can do about that. You can only try your hardest and do everything you can.”
Is that what happened to you? Harry thought, though he didn’t have the heart to say it. Together, they turned back toward the kissing gate and left the graveyard.
Hogwarts Chronicles: the Philosopher's Stone by Faile, BrennaShade
Chapter Notes: From here on out, I will be pulling a few things directly out of the books. The plot is based strongly off of JKR's "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" because the intention was to find out how the books would be different if James was alive. Any similar elements found in this story which can be traced directly back to JKR's works are attributed to that and are not meant to be plagiarism. I do not take credit for the plot or anything else taken out of the books. This was written only for a "what if" and enjoyment.
Chapter Endnotes: As always, thanks to my wonderful beta LucillaJoanna for all her hard work.