Title: Father's Day
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: You know the Drill
Author's Notes: First off, to the idiot who decided to complain that I stole someone else's plot -- Learn to read. Not only did I NOT steal their plot, but I intend to take this story in a different direction. Yes, this is inspired by Jakia's challenge. But it is NOT in answer to her challenge. You want to know why? First off, because I'm not using all of her elements, because a couple of them don't fit in my story. Alright, now that I've got that rant over with, thank you for your kind remarks, everyone who is intelligent enough to read. This story is inspired by Jakia's challenge, but I intend to take it in a different direction and a different angle. I encourage you to read Family Ties by Rhiannon, posted in response to Jakia's challenge. I'm hoping to average an update a week, but we'll see how flexible that is. Thanks to the person who pointed out an inconsistency in my story. I've taken care of it. Just as an afterthought, part of Remus speech was actually inspired by a eulogy I read in a Steven White novel. Now, on to chapter 2.
Chapter 2: Last Requests
Harry Potter glanced over the lopsided but strangely comfortable building that was the Burrow. He had spent so many summers here during his younger years, and yet it never changed. The familiarity was a source of comfort to him.
Pulling the shorter Molly Weasley to his side, Harry made his way with the older woman to the front door of the Burrow, which swung open automatically to allow them entrance. The second they stepped foot in the kitchen, Molly squirmed out of Harry's grip and immediately made her way to a cupboard, open and closing doors.
"Can I get you some tea, Harry? Or perhaps a biscuit or some cake? You must be hungry. I know; I'll make that special stew you always liked. Now where did I put that cabbage?"
All of this was said very quickly, and was directed more to the air than Harry himself.
"Molly, Harry knows his way around our kitchen. He's practically family." Arthur Weasley piped up as he made his way into the kitchen. He looked exhausted, Harry thought.
"Nonsense, Arthur," Molly said, paying only scant attention to her husband while she pulled down pots and pans. Mr. Weasley sighed, crossing the room and resting his left hand on hers. His wife tensed for a moment, her body frozen under the gentle gesture. Then she jerked her hand away and continued making preparations to cook. Harry simply watched the exchange, afraid to interject. It was pretty clear that Mrs. Weasley was trying to keep herself occupied with something else besides Ron's death. Harry also knew that such actions were probably not healthy, either.
Arthur sighed, stepping up behind his wife, who was now hovering over the sink, attacking the soapy dishes without magic. Gently, he wrapped his arms around hers, his hands closing around her wrists. Molly tried to jerk out of his grasp, but Arthur stood firm.
"Let go of me!" Mrs. Weasley said tensely, trying to twist away from him. Harry caught sight of her wand poking out from a pocket on her badly faded dress. Mr. Weasley seemed to catch sight of it too, because the next instant he released his grip on her to snatch the wand out of her pocket. While Mrs. Weasley was turning around, he tossed the wand to Harry, who caught it in his left hand with an arched eyebrow.
"Arthur! You … You …" Molly stammered, pounding on her husband's chest with her closed fists. Harry's eyebrows widened as a word he never thought he'd hear Mrs. Weasley utter escaped her mouth. In a second Arthur had his arms wrapped tightly around his wife, pinning her arms to his chest as he pressed his mouth in her graying hair.
"He's not coming back," Mr. Weasley choked out, the tears streaming down his cheeks. "No housework will change that."
Mrs. Weasley burst into tears, and the couple slowly slid to the floor, sobbing. Harry watched the exchange, feeling his own sorrow well in his throat. He quietly slid Mrs. Weasley's wand onto the kitchen table and made his way to the living room.
The living room was immaculate. Obviously Molly had been doing a lot of cleaning to try to cope with Ron's death. Harry spotted a half finished maroon sweater with a large R in the corner, obviously untouched for some time. Harry felt the tears begin to boil behind his eyes, but he forced himself to keep them at bay.
He heard the door opening behind him and turned, watching as Artie stormed into the room, seemingly oblivious to everything.
"Hi Artie," Harry said quietly, thinking about how he could best help alleviate some of the child's grief. But if Artie heard him, he gave no indication. Instead, he marched past Harry and quickly stomped his way up the staircase to the bedrooms upstairs.
Harry frowned, waiting until Artie had disappeared up the stairs. He began to follow him when he heard his name being called again.
"Harry!"
"There you are!"
Fred and George entered the living room simultaneously with a loud pop. The twins took Harry by the arms and ushered him to a large, comfortable chair. With a flourish of his wand Fred managed to conjure two wooden stools. Each twin took one, settling across from Harry. Harry stared at the twins, wide-eyed, his glasses slightly askew on his nose.
"You've got a lot of explaining to do," said Fred.
"About why you hardly ever wrote," George interrupted.
"Or visited," Fred added.
"Mum's really missed you," George continued.
"And so did Ron," Fred piped up. "And Hermione."
"It's been almost ten years since we've seen you," George said.
"You owe us an explanation," Fred concluded.
The two sat across from Harry, their arms crossed over their chests. Harry sighed, adjusting his glasses slightly. His mind fluttered over various excuses, but they all seemed hollow and empty. Deciding that honesty would be the best response, he shifted in the chair and nodded to Fred and George.
"I know it's been awhile," Harry said, sincerely. "I'm sorry. Training took up two years of my life, and I wasn't able to contact anyone during that time. Then, as soon as I finished, it seemed as if I was being shuffled from one assignment to another."
Fred and George gave each other a look, but before they could speak up, Harry continued. "I know I should have written more, but I …," Harry frowned, fumbling for words. "I was so caught up in trying to stop the Deatheaters that I lost track of time. I kept telling myself I'd write after the next assignment, but time seemed to slip away."
"Not good enough," Fred said.
"It's been ten years, Harry," George added.
Harry sighed. "I know. Like I said, I don't really have a good excuse. I convinced myself that I was doing it for you all."
"For us?" George asked, his expression clouded.
"I think you better explain," Fred added.
Harry nodded, his emerald gaze slipping to the ground. "As long as Deatheaters are out, no one is really safe. Your family … as well as Hermione … least of all. Because you all helped me defeat Voldemort."
Fred and George flinched noticeably as Harry said his name.
"I know it doesn't excuse what I did, and I know it will take a long time to forgive, but believe me when I say I thought about you all every day. Every time I donned a disguise or masked my presence or drank that stinking polyjuice potion, I thought of you and how I was doing this for all of you guys," Harry said apologetically.
The twins remained silent for a moment, then they gave each other guarded looks. George gave Fred an imperceptible nod.
"It doesn't excuse what you did, but we're willing to look past it, for now," Fred said.
"That just means we won't force-feed you any of our new products tonight, while you haven't had a good night's sleep," George added.
"It doesn't protect you from making it up to us tomorrow," Fred said, a grin crossing his freckled features. A smile spread across Harry's face and he nodded, relief flooding his body. It felt good to be home.
Fred and George escorted him up the steps, chattering all the way. Charlie was staying in his old room, and Bill and Fleur were staying in Percy's old room.
"Percy wouldn't stay here with his wife," George said as they trudged up the steps. Harry nodded. Percy had married Penelope during Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts. "Said it would be too crowded. He's staying at the Leaky Cauldron."
"Of course, we're staying in our old room," Fred said. "And Artie is staying in G… in the guest bedroom," he said with a scowl.
"You can stay with us, if you'd like. We promise not to do anything too terrible to you while you sleep," George said.
Without realizing it, Harry found himself standing in front of the door to Ron's old bedroom. The three grew silent, and Harry stared at the door with a sense of foreboding. Part of him wanted to go inside, if only to reassure himself that Ron would not be there, sitting on the bed and rambling on about the Chudley Cannons.
"I think I'll stay in there," Harry said quietly. Fred and George gave each other an indiscernible look, and then returned their focus to Harry.
"Are you sure, mate?" Fred asked. At Harry's nod, he looked back at George, and gave his twin a nod.
"Good night then," they said in unison, before trudging down the hallway to their room. Harry stood outside the door to Ron's room, trying to work up the courage to enter. As an afterthought, he instead turned down the hallway, heading towards Ginny's old room.
"Artie?" Harry said quietly, knocking on the door. When he didn't receive a response, Harry cracked open the door a bit, sending a long sliver of light into the room. Artie was lying on top of the blanket, turned towards the wall. Harry squinted against the darkness, slowly making his way into the room. Artie was asleep, or at least he was pretending to be. Harry was about to turn and leave when he noticed that the boy hadn't removed any of the clothing he'd worn from the funeral. A twinge of compassion passed over him, and Harry quietly snuck his way to the boy's side, carefully slipping off his shoes.
Artie stirred, but turned over onto his back. At that moment Harry was struck by just how innocent the redheaded child looked. Was I ever that young, Harry asked himself. He slowly loosened the tie from around the boy's neck and slipped it over his head, taking great care not to wake him. Then he deftly began unbuttoning the boy's shirt. He was contemplating the best way to remove it when he heard the door creak open behind him. Harry looked over his right shoulder, watching as Mrs. Weasley entered the room. She smiled gratefully at Harry through puffy eyes, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. In a manner of moments she'd taken care to remove Artie's shirt and had tucked the eleven-year-old under the blankets.
Harry watched Mrs. Weasley work, amazed at how naturally parenting came to her. Will I ever be that good of a parent? Harry wondered. Then, with a slight shake of his head he immediately dismissed the idea. He'd given up the idea of having a family when he became an Auror. The best he would manage, if he was lucky, was to be a doting godfather of one of the Weasleys.
"Poor dear," Mrs. Weasley said, kissing Artie lightly on his forehead. "He barely had gotten over the loss of his mother when Ron left."
She rose to her feet, turning to face Harry. "He is such a good boy. He really deserves a good home."
Harry nodded, walking over to Mrs. Weasley and drawing the woman into a hug. "He'll get one," Harry said quietly, looking over her shoulder to the sleeping child. "I'm sure of it."
Mrs. Weasley nodded, and together the two of them walked out of the room. After bidding him goodbye, Harry started down the hallway and stepped inside Ron's room.
"Lumos," Harry muttered, holding his wand out to illuminate the room. To his surprise, Ron's room looked as if it hadn't changed since his seventh year. Pictures of the Chudley Cannons dotted the room, along with stacks of Which Broomstick and his old Hogwarts books. Harry knew Ron had moved out just after graduation, when he and Luna had gotten married. Artie had been born nine months later. But Mrs. Weasley kept his room as if Ron had never left. Harry briefly worried about her sanity, but the yawn that escaped his mouth made him realize that he was extremely tired. And Ron's bed looked very inviting.
Harry pulled off his robes, slipping beneath the cool sheets. His eyes flickered to the bedside stand, where a picture of him, Ron, and Hermione sat. Harry reached out, taking the picture, staring at it. It was a picture taken shortly after they'd begun their seventh year. He remembered the moment well. Neville had just been snuck a Canary Crème in a piece of chocolate and had turned into a giant yellow bird. Hermione had erupted into a flurry of giggles, and the three of them had had a good laugh as Neville began to molt.
Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought about Ron and a deep longing filled his stomach as he wished for the old days to return. A ragged sob escaped his throat as the picture slipped from his grip, the frame shattering on the ground. Harry slowly scooped up the aging photograph, rolling onto his stomach as he slipped the photograph beneath his pillow. He closed his eyes, slowing down his breathing until he'd regained control over his emotions and fell into a restless sleep.
* * *
Sunlight was streaming into the room when Harry finally opened his eyes. It felt as if a pair of two ton blocks had fastened themselves to his eyelids. Groaning, he turned over onto his stomach, wishing he could go back to sleep for another century. But then the smell of bacon wafted underneath the door, and Harry, clad only in his sleep pants, decided it was time to wake up.
He plodded into the kitchen, where Artie, Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley were already seated. Mrs. Weasley stood over the stove, her wand in her hand as she sent spells sailing towards various pots and pans.
"Good morning Harry," Fred said, some pancake syrup dripping out of his mouth. "Pancakes?"
Harry nodded, sliding into a seat beside Artie. The younger boy was poking at his sausages, but his food remained untouched.
"Here you go, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, setting down a plate of a dozen pancakes in front of Harry. The messy-haired wizard suddenly realized just how famished he was, and grabbed his utensils, beginning to dig into the plate of food.
"Artie dear, finish your sausages, at least. You didn't eat supper last night." Mrs. Weasley coddled. Artie shrugged, poking one of his sausages.
"Your letter from Hogwarts came today, dear. Maybe on Saturday we could go to Diagon Alley?" Molly asked. Harry's eyes widened at the expression of raw fury on the boy's face.
Artie slammed his fork down. "I'm not hungry and I don't want to go to Hogwarts. Just leave me alone!" Then he stormed out of the room.
They sat in stunned silence for a moment, before Mrs. Weasley let out a deep sigh. They ate in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.
"Fred, George, will you be sure to return by two o'clock?"
"Sure mum," Fred said.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked.
Fred and George looked at each other, then at him. "We're headed to Ron's old flat to get some of his things. Mum wants us to bring them back before the reading."
"Reading?"
George nodded. "This afternoon we have to go to the ministry and listen to Remus read Ron's will."
Harry nodded, a deep pit settling in his stomach. He stared at his half-finished stack of pancakes and then pushed them away. After thinking for a moment he looked at Fred and George.
"Can I come with you?"
"Are you sure, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, piling some sausages onto Harry's plate.
Harry nodded, looking up at Mrs. Weasley. "I'd like to see where Ron lived."
"You can come," George said. "It'll be good to have another hand in moving his things."
* * *
The second Harry stepped foot inside Ron's flat, he immediately regretted his offer to help. It looked worse than some of the bachelor pads he stayed at. Pizza boxes were strewn around the floor, and it looked as if a duster hadn't seen this place in ages. Ron had never been one to clean up after himself, but this was bordering on ridiculous.
"Erm, are we going to clean all of this?" Harry asked, turning over a moldy sandwich with his sneakered foot.
Fred shook his head. "We'll let mum do the hard work. We're just here to move whatever we can."
Harry nodded, tossing some clothes into a box. They worked in silence, occasionally apparating back to the Burrow with a box and back with a loud pop. Pretty soon it was 1 o'clock, and they were sweaty, exhausted, and dirty from the hard work.
"Remind me to have a few cross words with Ron once I get to the other side," George muttered, collapsing onto a chair. Harry nodded, plopping down on a nearby coffee table. He stared at the mess, grateful he wasn't going to be the one to have to clean it. After a few moments of silence, Harry finally looked up.
"What happened?" he asked quietly. "You know … when you found out?" Fred and George looked at each other. Eventually Fred broke the silence.
"We'll show you," he said slowly, after great deliberation. "To the shop."
And he and George vanished with a pop. Harry shrugged, but followed them. He found himself in a dark store, lined with rows of novelties that would have put Zonko's to shame.
"We found him over here," Fred said, pointing to a spot on the ground behind the cash register. Harry nodded, making his way over to where Fred and George were standing. He knelt on the ground and brushed his fingers across the wooden floor, as if touching the fine lines of the wood would provide him some insight into Ron's murder.
"He had stayed up at the shop to close. He'd been helping us for the past year," Fred said.
George nodded, then added, "He didn't close often, but he offered."
"We had dates," Fred piped up.
"What happened then?" Harry said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. He didn't care who Fred and George had been seeing that night. All he cared about was getting revenge on Ron's murderer.
"Well, when we got home we had an owl from mum," Fred said. "Ron hadn't returned home and Artie was worried. So we came back to the shop."
"He was lying on the ground. It was pretty obvious someone had used the killing curse on him," George said.
Harry nodded, tracing his finger along the ground. Ron, what happened to you?
"Fred took Ron to St. Mungo's, but I went to see Mum and Dad…," George said, his voice trailing off.
Harry nodded, the implications clear. Letting out a small sigh, he stood to his feet, the investigator in him taking over. "Was he supposed to meet anyone that night?"
Fred shook his head. "Not that we know of. He usually went straight home to be with Artie."
"Anyways, that's all we know," George said, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at his watch, his eyes widening. "It's almost two o'clock! We'll have to apparate straight to the Ministry."
* * *
Moments later, Harry found himself in a wooden chair, around a long wooden table. The other Weasleys were gathered around, except for Percy, who had to return home, and Ginny, for obvious reasons. Harry glanced at Artie, who had a sour expression on his face.
Remus came inside, holding a piece of parchment in his hand. He made his way to the head of the table, taking a seat and giving them a slight nod.
"I'll try to make this brief," he said. "I know you are all eager to go home." Mr. Weasley gave Lupin a weak smile and wrapped an arm around his wife.
"Okay, then," Remus said, clearing his throat. "I, Ronald Weasley, being of sound mind, et cetera, hereby bequeath all of my Gringott's gold, my books, my Quidditch equipment, and other magazines and/or books to my son, Arthur Ronald Weasley II. The gold shall be held in trust until he is of age."
Harry nodded. That much he had expected. Ron had made a tidy sum of Galleons while playing keeper for the Cannons, and Fred and George had always done really well in their joke shop.
"My furniture, flat, and other physical possessions not bequeathed to my son shall go to my parents, Molly and Arthur Weasley, to be dealt with accordingly.
Molly started crying softly into Mr. Weasley's shoulder. Harry took the opportunity to look at Artie, but the younger Weasley made no movement. His eyes were leveled on a coffee stain on the table in front of them.
"Now to the matter of custody of Artie."
Harry's eyes jerked up, and all around him he could see attention shifting towards Lupin. Even Artie's head perked up with interest.
"Custody of my son, Arthur Ronald Weasley II shall be awarded to my best friend, Harry James Potter."
Harry felt his stomach drop.