Joe Harts, all of fifteen years old, was sitting in his room playing with the settings on his new laptop. As birthday presents go, this was quite possibly the best one he’d ever had. But he’d been playing games and setting up accounts all today and most of yesterday and now he was at a loss for what to do.
He drummed his fingers on his desk and then opened the internet again and went to Google, but didn’t type anything in. There must be something he could do…
Looking around his room for inspiration, his eyes fell on a photograph: himself aged ten with another, older boy. They were undeniably related, both sharing the same mid-brown hair and mid-brown eyes and straight, regular features. But the picture was old and covered with finger marks - treasured. Joe paused for a moment, staring at it, and then typed two words into the search box.
He paused again, and then hit enter.
A whole list of results came up - something from an ancestry site, a businessman’s profile, all irrelevant. Unsurprising. He’d done this search before, many times, on school computers. But the third entry down caught Joe’s eye: –…the eighteen-year-old Casper Livingston has…â€
Eighteen? That was the right age. Suddenly nervous, Joe followed the link.
It was a news article about some new youth hostel in South London. Joe scrolled through it and then saw the picture. He enlarged it on the screen, and stopped breathing.
It was him. A few years older, and with a new hardness in his smile, but it was unmistakably him.
After a minute or so of sheer shock, Joe flicked up through the article again. He found the address, wrote it down, and then booked a ticket to London for the next morning. The train left the station around the time that school started.
Sorry mum, he thought guiltily, glancing at the wall that separated his room from hers. I have to find him.
~
April 2019
Platform nine and three-quarters on the morning of the first day of the Easter holidays was hectic and busy; Harry and Ginny waited quietly by the archway for the now twelve-year-old Ezzy to come to them. The rest of the Weasley family had been and gone, but Ezzy was still talking to a friend further up the platform. Finally, she said her goodbyes and made her way towards her parents.
–Mum! Dad!†she called as she approached, grinning. Harry took her trunk from her while Ginny swept her into a hug.
–Happy Easter, Ezzy,†Ginny said, smiling into her daughter’s shoulder.
–Looking forward to seeing the rest of the family?†Harry asked as he took his turn for a hug. –We’ve got dinner at the Burrow the day after tomorrow.â€
The three of them ignored the curious looks that Harry often got, and headed home.
When they got in, apparating to the little alleyway between the two houses opposite that was normally unobserved, Ginny with Ezzy and Harry with the luggage, they saw that there was someone unexpected waiting for them on the doorstep.
A middle-aged Muggle policeman looked up from observing the flowerbeds as they approached.
–Mr and Mrs Potter?†he asked cautiously. Harry recognised him as being from their local police station.
–That’s us. Sergeant Markel, isn’t it?†Harry said, looking at the man curiously. The policeman fidgeted nervously with his hat, which he was holding in his hands.
–Yes sir,†he replied. –I need to speak with you both about a somewhat urgent matter. Perhaps, inside…†Harry nodded.
–Of course,†he said, wondering what this was about. He led them all into the house, and as soon as Ezzy had gone upstairs to her room to unpack her trunk, he led the way downstairs into the study. Harry made sure that he was several feet ahead of Ginny and the sergeant so that he could conjure an extra chair without being seen. He offered it to the sergeant, who took it, and Harry sat down behind his own desk. Ginny hovered a moment.
–Would you like a cup of tea, sergeant?†she asked. He shook his head.
–No thank you, ma’am. And if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, you may want to sit down.†Sergeant Markel said awkwardly. Ginny hesitated before perching on the desk.
The sergeant shuffled his feet slightly as he sat, before pulling himself together and forcing his professional air to the fore.
–Around two o’clock this morning, a young boy was brought in to Godric’s Hollow police station badly injured. He was then taken by ambulance to St Malcolm’s hospital, and upon attempting to identify the boy several names came up; after checking the boy’s blood type this list was narrowed down to one.â€
There was a very brief but tense silence before Sergeant Markel continued.
–We believe that this boy may be your son.â€
~
The Muggle hospital was very busy. Harry and Ginny approached the information desk, having left Ezzy at Puddles with Ron and Hermione - –Dad, what’s going on?†–We’ll talk to you later, sweetheart, we just need to confirm something†- and after ten minutes they were given a floor number and directions to the lift. They arrived in intensive care a few minutes later. They had to give identification briefly to prove who they were, and then they were unexpectedly met by a familiar face.
–Katie?†Harry asked, surprised.
Katie Weasley (née Bell) gave a soft smile.
–They looked up the family doctor on the records,†she explained as she led them down the corridor. –I’m the one who knows his medical history best. I came as soon as I could.â€
They stopped outside the closed door to a room. Harry, after a deep breath, forced out the question that he most needed answering.
–Is it - are you sure that it’s him?†His voice was quiet and hesitant, so unlike his usual confidence, but Katie understood and Ginny tightened her grip on his hand.
–Yes, I’m certain,†Katie said softly. –It’s Eddie.â€
She reached for the door handle.
–You can see him now; he’s not awake at the moment, hasn’t been at all since before he was brought in. I’ll give you a few minutes, and then we need to go back to the office that I’m borrowing and we’ll talk through what we know.â€
The door was opened with a soft click, and Harry and Ginny went in.
~
Sitting there on the hard hospital chairs, it was difficult even to breathe. Eddie - Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie was all that Harry’s mind could manage to begin with - was lying on the hospital bed in the centre of the room. Harry could not do much more than stare to start with, but slowly he began to process the boy before him.
Harry knew that his son was twelve - the same age as his sister - but the boy in the hospital bed was so thin and small that he might have been eight or nine. His skin was deathly pale, and showed the bones of his wrist and fingers so clearly that he looked almost skeletal. But the skin was not smooth. Bruises, scars and what looked like burn marks covered almost every part of the skin that Harry and Ginny could see, so that there was not a half-inch square of untouched skin to be seen. Harry felt rather than heard Ginny moan quietly and lean into him; he wrapped his arms around her instinctively, not looking away from the boy on the bed. This time he was looking at the face, scanning the features, adding imaginary fat to it so as to see if… and there it was. Now he could see it. Now he could see himself and Ginny in this boy’s face. And for the first time that day, he really let himself believe that this was their son.
–He’s back,†he murmured into Ginny’s hair as he held her. –He’s back.â€
~
Various Weasleys started meandering into the Burrow via floo and apparation and occasionally the front door around seven o’clock; the older kids were at the party of a school friend, and the younger ones were tucked in bed with babysitters relaxing downstairs. It was good to have a night just for adults. Eventually, they were all sitting and standing in the kitchen, talking about anything that came to mind. Charlie was only recently back from Romania where he now worked teaching new staff at the dragon reserve; Percy, much more relaxed than he had been in his schooldays, was chatting easily with Bill about the current Goblin/Human politics; Fred and George were boasting about their newest range to Arthur and Charlie - –Stumbled on the recipe almost by accident, didn’t we Fred?†–Genius, George, it was genius!†- and with Hermione and Molly already making plans for the family party in the summer, that left Ron to talk to Fred’s wife Angelina about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.
–Greece is definitely looking good this year, I know they need to replace their keeper, but -â€
Ron nodded and shook his head and offered comments of his own when necessary, but his heart was not really in the conversation. Harry and Ginny still weren’t here yet - and neither was Katie, George’s wife. He had asked George but George had just shrugged and said that Katie was working late at the hospital tonight. It was over an hour before there was any news at all.
Harry came through the fireplace without any warning. He was paler than usual and his hair looked as though he had been running his fingers through it. The kitchen quietened; a few people exchanged worried or curious glances. Ron spoke before anyone else could.
–Harry, are you okay?â€
Harry opened his mouth to speak but then appeared to change his mind. He chewed on his lip for a moment before answering.
–Maybe… maybe not exactly an answerable question right now,†he said quietly, his voice a little strained. Hermione pulled a chair out a little way from the table, and Harry sank into it without question. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw Bill pour a cup of tea from the pot and add several teaspoons of sugar to it. He brought it over to Harry and put it down on the table; Harry looked up gratefully. He took a few slow sips before Ron spoke again, much more obviously concerned now.
–What’s going on, mate?†he asked, half-afraid of the answer. Harry didn’t seem particularly devastated or particularly happy - if anything, he just seemed exhausted - but Ron couldn’t see how Harry being in this state could ever be a good thing. But then Harry looked up again and simultaneously answered everything while provoking a hundred more questions all at once.
–They found Eddie.â€
There was absolute silence in the kitchen apart from Harry, who picked up his tea again and drank from it. Ron felt almost as though he could not breathe, and was grateful when Charlie broke the silence.
–Is…†he faded out almost immediately, uncertain, –is he…?â€
The last word did not need to be said. It seemed to hang in the air until Harry replied.
–He’s alive.†Harry’s voice was quiet and tense but the relief underneath it was unmistakeable. –He was brought in to a Muggle hospital; they’re just finishing transferring him to St Mungo’s now, Ginny and Katie are with him. He’s got a long recovery, but they think that physically he’ll be okay.â€
The air in the kitchen was breathable again, but Ron had picked up on a key word in Harry’s sentence.
–Physically?†he asked, frowning a little.
Harry’s smile was thin and humourless. He started to speak but couldn’t; Ron took a step towards him but it was Hermione who got there first, pulling her chair up close to his and wrapping her arms around him. Ron put a hand on his best friend’s shoulder and could feel him shaking a little.
Vaguely, Harry noticed that Mrs Weasley was nudging people towards the living room, to better leave Ron and Hermione to comfort Harry. All he could feel was a raw nothingness that he knew was the only thing that stood between him and the outpouring of emotion that was sure to come. He did the only thing that he could do; he reached for Ron’s hand with his own and wrapped his free arm around Hermione, and let his best friends anchor him as his whole world fall apart.