Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to a nice lady named J.K Rowling, who would probably suffer a heart attack if she knew what I had them doing behind her back.
Warning: This is a slash piece. It involves not only the romantic involvement of two males... but there is also a drastic age difference between them (we're talking 15 and about 36 here...). If this offends you, take this opportunity to run screaming by clicking the back button on your browser. If you proceed beyond this point and are disturbed by what you read - please, feel free to flame the hell out of me. Just don't think I'm going to care.
* *
He looks just like his father when he sleeps.
...Yes, just like James - from the delicate curve of his jaw to the exquisite cheekbones to the slightly ski-jumped nose, he is his father's son. Lily is only in his eyes. I see her looking back at me sometimes, from behind the round frames of his glasses... and sometimes, when he smiles, I almost fancy that it's her behind those eyes and not this sweet, tortured child who remains now to be her only real flesh and blood. There are too many ghosts in his eyes.
But those eyes are closed now, as he lays here beside me... wearing nothing but what the Gods gave him except a tangle of bedclothes - not even those blasted glasses that keep his face forever that of a child. He looks quite sensual without them, instead of simply pretty. Perhaps it is wrong of me to think so, but it is the truth nonetheless, and I do not deny my emotions, however questionable others might find them. The unique beauty of each of his parents comes together in him to create something altogether precious. Beside me rests the sole, living testament to the two people I loved more than anything in this world; why, then, should it be so strange to love their child tenfold?
It has never been a secret that Lily and I were second-year sweethearts - indeed, our relations carried on well into our fourth year at Hogwarts. We were a hopelessly romantic couple, and James enjoyed to no end teasing me for my hopeless, lovesick blind spot when it came to her. There was no way I was going to tell him that I had a worse one for him. I was even the one to encourage him to approach her at the beginning of our fifth year. * "Just because she and I had our differences doesn't mean you two will. No hard feelings." * I knew, even then, that I could never have James. And if this was truly the case, then at least I would have the solace of knowing that he belonged to someone worthy of him... someone who I still loved dearly, even though I was no longer *in* love with her.
Their courtship and marriage was a fairytale. Remus and I attended their wedding only three years after our graduation, hand in hand, and they were as happy for us as we were for them. It was only a short matter of months later that the morning owl brought a letter from the newly-weds to our window, announcing the impending birth of their child, and requesting myself for the role of the baby's godfather. I was, of course, delighted to oblige.
The fate of Lily, James, and little Harry Potter is certainly a tale that does not require me to re-tell it yet again. Through all my years in Azkaban, there was one thing that the Dementors could not take from me - the venomous desire to seek revenge upon the creature that destroyed their lives. The Dementors feed upon the happiness of others. They could not steal my rage from me. I had vowed long ago to myself to escape from that vile place... to fulfill my duty as godfather to the one remaining, living piece of the two people I so dearly loved.
And now... almost sixteen years later, I finally have my chance. I watch Harry shift in his sleep, settling deeper into the pillows. His sleep is finally innocent, as it should be. When he first came to stay with me, he was haunted mercilessly by nightmares, plagued by the memories of a childhood devoid of love or affection, and subsequently he slept with one eye proverbially open at all times. It was a heartbreaking period in my life, those first few months. The extent to which Harry had been deprived of compassion was positively appalling. Perhaps this is the reason he is so desperately dependent on me now; for I was Harry's first everything. I was his first true connection to his past... I was his first confidant... I was the first person ever to love him, and later, (perhaps for that very reason), I was his first kiss. I was the first person ever to let him cry on my shoulder, or to stroke his hair as he fell asleep, or to hold him in my arms when the weight of being The Boy Who Lived was overwhelming to him. I have given him the first true home in which he feels welcome, the first embrace in which he feels safe, and the first true taste of what the love of another human being can do to soothe an injured soul.
Never once did I tell James Potter that I loved him. I would regret it to this very day... but when I speak the words to Harry, and see the way those green eyes soften... just as his mother's did... at the words, I feel as if this I've said all I needed to say. And on nights like tonight, as I watch him sleep beside me - his face buried against my chest, his slender fingers curled in my hair... I am filled with both joy for what I have, and sorrow for what I have lost...
Warning: This is a slash piece. It involves not only the romantic involvement of two males... but there is also a drastic age difference between them (we're talking 15 and about 36 here...). If this offends you, take this opportunity to run screaming by clicking the back button on your browser. If you proceed beyond this point and are disturbed by what you read - please, feel free to flame the hell out of me. Just don't think I'm going to care.
* *
He looks just like his father when he sleeps.
...Yes, just like James - from the delicate curve of his jaw to the exquisite cheekbones to the slightly ski-jumped nose, he is his father's son. Lily is only in his eyes. I see her looking back at me sometimes, from behind the round frames of his glasses... and sometimes, when he smiles, I almost fancy that it's her behind those eyes and not this sweet, tortured child who remains now to be her only real flesh and blood. There are too many ghosts in his eyes.
But those eyes are closed now, as he lays here beside me... wearing nothing but what the Gods gave him except a tangle of bedclothes - not even those blasted glasses that keep his face forever that of a child. He looks quite sensual without them, instead of simply pretty. Perhaps it is wrong of me to think so, but it is the truth nonetheless, and I do not deny my emotions, however questionable others might find them. The unique beauty of each of his parents comes together in him to create something altogether precious. Beside me rests the sole, living testament to the two people I loved more than anything in this world; why, then, should it be so strange to love their child tenfold?
It has never been a secret that Lily and I were second-year sweethearts - indeed, our relations carried on well into our fourth year at Hogwarts. We were a hopelessly romantic couple, and James enjoyed to no end teasing me for my hopeless, lovesick blind spot when it came to her. There was no way I was going to tell him that I had a worse one for him. I was even the one to encourage him to approach her at the beginning of our fifth year. * "Just because she and I had our differences doesn't mean you two will. No hard feelings." * I knew, even then, that I could never have James. And if this was truly the case, then at least I would have the solace of knowing that he belonged to someone worthy of him... someone who I still loved dearly, even though I was no longer *in* love with her.
Their courtship and marriage was a fairytale. Remus and I attended their wedding only three years after our graduation, hand in hand, and they were as happy for us as we were for them. It was only a short matter of months later that the morning owl brought a letter from the newly-weds to our window, announcing the impending birth of their child, and requesting myself for the role of the baby's godfather. I was, of course, delighted to oblige.
The fate of Lily, James, and little Harry Potter is certainly a tale that does not require me to re-tell it yet again. Through all my years in Azkaban, there was one thing that the Dementors could not take from me - the venomous desire to seek revenge upon the creature that destroyed their lives. The Dementors feed upon the happiness of others. They could not steal my rage from me. I had vowed long ago to myself to escape from that vile place... to fulfill my duty as godfather to the one remaining, living piece of the two people I so dearly loved.
And now... almost sixteen years later, I finally have my chance. I watch Harry shift in his sleep, settling deeper into the pillows. His sleep is finally innocent, as it should be. When he first came to stay with me, he was haunted mercilessly by nightmares, plagued by the memories of a childhood devoid of love or affection, and subsequently he slept with one eye proverbially open at all times. It was a heartbreaking period in my life, those first few months. The extent to which Harry had been deprived of compassion was positively appalling. Perhaps this is the reason he is so desperately dependent on me now; for I was Harry's first everything. I was his first true connection to his past... I was his first confidant... I was the first person ever to love him, and later, (perhaps for that very reason), I was his first kiss. I was the first person ever to let him cry on my shoulder, or to stroke his hair as he fell asleep, or to hold him in my arms when the weight of being The Boy Who Lived was overwhelming to him. I have given him the first true home in which he feels welcome, the first embrace in which he feels safe, and the first true taste of what the love of another human being can do to soothe an injured soul.
Never once did I tell James Potter that I loved him. I would regret it to this very day... but when I speak the words to Harry, and see the way those green eyes soften... just as his mother's did... at the words, I feel as if this I've said all I needed to say. And on nights like tonight, as I watch him sleep beside me - his face buried against my chest, his slender fingers curled in my hair... I am filled with both joy for what I have, and sorrow for what I have lost...