Chapter 2 of Descent Into Darkness. Hmm... I don't know about you, but I
find Dark!Harry *very* interesting. Also, this fic is not going to describe
his whole life, but rather key events that led to what he became. I suggest
you read Interesting Times first people, or this won't make a whole lot of
sense.
Anyway, onto:
DESCENT INTO DARKNESS
2: Books and Broomsticks.
"It's just... he seems so far away from me, Lily," said James Potter, glancing out into the garden where his son Harry was reading under the Potter's large oak tree. "I know I'm not around as much as I should be- but still... I just- I just feel as if I don't know him at all."
A year-and-a-half had passed since Sam Potter's death. To the outside world it seemed as if the family was beginning to get over their loss; but in reality, it was a very different story.
The happy, close-knit family was no more. Instead, three strangers now resided in a rather frigid home, ill at ease with each other, and not knowing what to do with themselves. Lily had quit her Ministry job shortly after the funeral. Her excuse was that she wanted to spend more time with her only living child, but this was only half-true. She also had not been able to face work after the accident. Unable to face the sympathetic faces, the kindly meant questions of if she was alright. She was still a young woman, who had led an active, full life before her son's death. Now she rarely saw anyone, and spent all her energy on her remaining son.
James had dealt with the grief in a very different way. In an attempt to forget, he had thrown himself into his work, allowing himself to only take a week off after the funeral before returning to his job. He was a bright, able man, who had been predicted for great things when he had entered the Ministry. These predictions seemed to be coming true now, and much faster than originally hoped.
It was a blessing that Lily and James had such a close, loving relationship. If it had been anything else but the deepest love, it was very unlikely that they would still be together at all after such a damaging tragedy.
And Harry... Harry. Friends of the Potters asked: how was young Harry coping with his brother's death? Each time, his parents would hesitate, and look at each other, unsure of how to answer. For how *was* Harry doing? In truth, his parents had little idea. James, in his bid to forget his pain, had hardly seen his son over the last year or so. Harry had grown even more solemn and quiet over the past months, and under his thick mop of black hair, his before-expressive eyes now held secrets he obviously had no wish to share. He had grown more into the person he would most likely become as an adult, and his mother had been the only one around to notice it. She saw that Harry was quieter than his father, more interested in books than play, more interested in understanding things than actually doing them. He would rather read about Quidditch than play it. This didn't matter to her, however. It was simply a fact. She still loved her son completely. And, although he didn't understand him and what made him tick, so did James.
But did either of them know that Harry still hated the Muggles, blamed them for Sam's death because deep down he blamed himself? Did they know that Harry was afraid of the tall, now-stern man his father had become over the last year, always so serious about everything, and also blamed himself for it? Did they know that Harry was extremely upset that his father worked so much of the time, because inside he had an awful, sickeningly sneaking suspicion that his father blamed him for his other son's death, and so did not want anything to do with him? The answer was no, no, and most definitely NO.
That afternoon, James had made an effort to spend time with Harry. He had thought back to when he had been Harry's age, what he had done, what he had liked. At nine, James had been a happy, mischievous boy who had got into terrible scrapes with his best friend Sirius. Therefore James had brought out his old broom and had endeavoured to teach Harry how to ride it.
Harry was engrossed in a large and dusty book on the subject of Unplottable locations when his father found him, broom over one shoulder, a tired but genuine smile on his pale face.
"Harry," he said. "Just the man I was looking for. It's a lovely day out. What are you doing cooped up in here? Come outside- I'm going to teach you how to ride a broom."
Harry swallowed, slowly lowering both his book and his eyes to the ground before answering softly, "I don't want to."
"Don't be silly!" said James, perplexed. "Of course you want to know how to ride! All the Potters do. Both Padfoot and I were in the Quidditch Team at school you know. It's in the blood. I can't understand why I haven't taught you before."
Harry looked up at his father at his last words, and his eyes flashed suddenly with something that James had no idea how to interpret. In a split- second it was gone again, and Harry's face once again took on its solemn, unreadable expression. Once again an invisible but very real barrier had fallen between the father and son. After a minute Harry reluctantly got up from his chair and silently followed his father into the garden.
James spent the next few minutes babbling on about the way to mount the broom, in a desperate bid to hide the strain between the two. Harry watched on silently. Soon it all came to a head.
"Now, Harry," said James. "You try it, now. Just get on the broom like I told you, rise a bit in the air and then come back down. It's very easy."
Harry had grown paler as he heard these last words, looking from James to the broom to the sky.
"Actually... *ride?*" he asked incredulously.
"Yes, of course."
"But I- I don't want to!" said Harry.
"Don't worry, Harry. It's quite safe. All you have to do is-"
"I don't want to, Dad."
"Don't be a baby, Harry," said James, slightly exasperated. He held the broom out to Harry, and, when Harry didn't take it, tried to press it into his hand. "Just take the broom and-"
"NO!"
The cry was short and sharp and brought all conversation to a halt. Harry thrust the broom towards his father, his eyes flashing angrily. James looked bewildered.
"Harry, I was only..."
"Leave me alone!" was the reply, and with that, Harry took off in the opposite direction.
James, very upset but as usual, unwilling to show it, went back into the house to find his wife. She was rather put out with him.
"It's because you DON'T know him at all," she said to her husband, "and you know it. It's going to take more than one afternoon to make up for the time you've wasted, James..."
"But you always seem so close to him," said James dully.
"It's because I'm always *here,* I make an *effort,*" said Lily. "Honestly James, you can't just expect him to be into the exact same things you were at that age, it just doesn't work like that. He may look like you, but you are two very different people."
"I know that," James grumbled. He sighed, then stood up, running a hand through his hair. "I'm going to go visit Sirius, Remus and Peter. Let Harry have a bit of time to cool down."
"Running away from your problems won't solve them, James!" Lily called after him. James merely waved back at her without turning back around.
After a few minutes, Lily went into the garden, walking up to Harry. He looked up at her with his normal, serious look.
"Dad didn't mean to upset you," Lily said carefully, sitting down beside him. "He just wants to spend more time with you, get to know you better."
Harry didn't say anything, but looked down at his book dully.
"Tell you what," said Lily after a minute, "would you like to go to Diagon Alley? We could go to Flourish and Blotts... and get an ice cream. How would that sound?"
Harry looked up at her, a genuine smile on his face. "Could we? Would I be allowed to get a book?"
"We'll see," answered Lily, smiling back. Harry did love his books.
The smile dropped a bit when Harry asked a bit apprehensively, "but- what about dad?"
"He's gone to visit Padfoot," said Lily quietly, watching his reaction. At these words, Harry jumped up and took her hand.
"Come on then, mum!" he said eagerly.
***
They travelled by Floo Powder up to the Leaky Cauldron. Although Voldemort was growing stronger, it was still safe to go to Diagon Alley, at least in the daytime. After they had arrived, Lily tapped the wall to bring them into Diagon Alley.
They went to Florean Fortescue's first, where Harry was amazed because his mum allowed him to get a *huge* ice cream. They ambled down the Alley, pointing at the interesting things in the windows and laughing together.
They finally reached Flourish and Blotts, Lily smiling as Harry *raced* in. In Harry's opinion, F and B's was the best shop in the *entire* world. He could spend the whole day there, just looking at the books.
Lily wandered around the front of the shop as Harry rushed down the rows and shelved and stacks of books, stopping every so often to exclaim, "look at *this* one, mum! It's the second volume of the one you got me last month!" Or, "*this* one's *really* rare! It's been out of print for ages!"
Lily had let Harry choose three books to buy, and he had just gone off to have one more look when she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around to meet the sympathetic brown eyes of Sarah Archer, a former work colleague. She smiled weakly at her.
"Lily!" said Sarah in her soft voice. "I haven't seen you in *such* a long time... how are you holding up?"
Lily swallowed, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Well, you know... it's one day at a time. I'm all right."
Sarah searched her face, obviously not believing her, as Harry came back from his expedition to stand by his mother's side. Sarah smiled at him.
"Is this Harry? I'm Sarah- I used to work with your mother. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about what happened..."
Lily watched with a sinking stomach as the bright look faded from her son's face and he looked at the floor, clutching his books tightly.
"Well- I'd better be gone," said Sarah after an awkward silence. "Lily- if you need anything, anything at all, *please* do owl me. Don't be a stranger. Good-bye, Harry." Giving Lily a parting hug, she left the shop.
Lily paid for the books in silence, looking worriedly at her son. Just as they had both put their hurt away for an afternoon, someone had to dredge it up again.
And all that Harry was thinking was: *why can't they all just leave me alone?*
***
Aargh! SOO depressing! This is the most depressing chapter of everything I've ever had to write... well, except chapter 11 of Interesting Times. Poor everyone! Sam's death has changed James from a happy-go-lucky prankster into a really worried person who won't show his emotions, especially towards his son. Lily and especially Harry are well screwed up too. Oh dear. But please review!
Anyway, onto:
DESCENT INTO DARKNESS
2: Books and Broomsticks.
"It's just... he seems so far away from me, Lily," said James Potter, glancing out into the garden where his son Harry was reading under the Potter's large oak tree. "I know I'm not around as much as I should be- but still... I just- I just feel as if I don't know him at all."
A year-and-a-half had passed since Sam Potter's death. To the outside world it seemed as if the family was beginning to get over their loss; but in reality, it was a very different story.
The happy, close-knit family was no more. Instead, three strangers now resided in a rather frigid home, ill at ease with each other, and not knowing what to do with themselves. Lily had quit her Ministry job shortly after the funeral. Her excuse was that she wanted to spend more time with her only living child, but this was only half-true. She also had not been able to face work after the accident. Unable to face the sympathetic faces, the kindly meant questions of if she was alright. She was still a young woman, who had led an active, full life before her son's death. Now she rarely saw anyone, and spent all her energy on her remaining son.
James had dealt with the grief in a very different way. In an attempt to forget, he had thrown himself into his work, allowing himself to only take a week off after the funeral before returning to his job. He was a bright, able man, who had been predicted for great things when he had entered the Ministry. These predictions seemed to be coming true now, and much faster than originally hoped.
It was a blessing that Lily and James had such a close, loving relationship. If it had been anything else but the deepest love, it was very unlikely that they would still be together at all after such a damaging tragedy.
And Harry... Harry. Friends of the Potters asked: how was young Harry coping with his brother's death? Each time, his parents would hesitate, and look at each other, unsure of how to answer. For how *was* Harry doing? In truth, his parents had little idea. James, in his bid to forget his pain, had hardly seen his son over the last year or so. Harry had grown even more solemn and quiet over the past months, and under his thick mop of black hair, his before-expressive eyes now held secrets he obviously had no wish to share. He had grown more into the person he would most likely become as an adult, and his mother had been the only one around to notice it. She saw that Harry was quieter than his father, more interested in books than play, more interested in understanding things than actually doing them. He would rather read about Quidditch than play it. This didn't matter to her, however. It was simply a fact. She still loved her son completely. And, although he didn't understand him and what made him tick, so did James.
But did either of them know that Harry still hated the Muggles, blamed them for Sam's death because deep down he blamed himself? Did they know that Harry was afraid of the tall, now-stern man his father had become over the last year, always so serious about everything, and also blamed himself for it? Did they know that Harry was extremely upset that his father worked so much of the time, because inside he had an awful, sickeningly sneaking suspicion that his father blamed him for his other son's death, and so did not want anything to do with him? The answer was no, no, and most definitely NO.
That afternoon, James had made an effort to spend time with Harry. He had thought back to when he had been Harry's age, what he had done, what he had liked. At nine, James had been a happy, mischievous boy who had got into terrible scrapes with his best friend Sirius. Therefore James had brought out his old broom and had endeavoured to teach Harry how to ride it.
Harry was engrossed in a large and dusty book on the subject of Unplottable locations when his father found him, broom over one shoulder, a tired but genuine smile on his pale face.
"Harry," he said. "Just the man I was looking for. It's a lovely day out. What are you doing cooped up in here? Come outside- I'm going to teach you how to ride a broom."
Harry swallowed, slowly lowering both his book and his eyes to the ground before answering softly, "I don't want to."
"Don't be silly!" said James, perplexed. "Of course you want to know how to ride! All the Potters do. Both Padfoot and I were in the Quidditch Team at school you know. It's in the blood. I can't understand why I haven't taught you before."
Harry looked up at his father at his last words, and his eyes flashed suddenly with something that James had no idea how to interpret. In a split- second it was gone again, and Harry's face once again took on its solemn, unreadable expression. Once again an invisible but very real barrier had fallen between the father and son. After a minute Harry reluctantly got up from his chair and silently followed his father into the garden.
James spent the next few minutes babbling on about the way to mount the broom, in a desperate bid to hide the strain between the two. Harry watched on silently. Soon it all came to a head.
"Now, Harry," said James. "You try it, now. Just get on the broom like I told you, rise a bit in the air and then come back down. It's very easy."
Harry had grown paler as he heard these last words, looking from James to the broom to the sky.
"Actually... *ride?*" he asked incredulously.
"Yes, of course."
"But I- I don't want to!" said Harry.
"Don't worry, Harry. It's quite safe. All you have to do is-"
"I don't want to, Dad."
"Don't be a baby, Harry," said James, slightly exasperated. He held the broom out to Harry, and, when Harry didn't take it, tried to press it into his hand. "Just take the broom and-"
"NO!"
The cry was short and sharp and brought all conversation to a halt. Harry thrust the broom towards his father, his eyes flashing angrily. James looked bewildered.
"Harry, I was only..."
"Leave me alone!" was the reply, and with that, Harry took off in the opposite direction.
James, very upset but as usual, unwilling to show it, went back into the house to find his wife. She was rather put out with him.
"It's because you DON'T know him at all," she said to her husband, "and you know it. It's going to take more than one afternoon to make up for the time you've wasted, James..."
"But you always seem so close to him," said James dully.
"It's because I'm always *here,* I make an *effort,*" said Lily. "Honestly James, you can't just expect him to be into the exact same things you were at that age, it just doesn't work like that. He may look like you, but you are two very different people."
"I know that," James grumbled. He sighed, then stood up, running a hand through his hair. "I'm going to go visit Sirius, Remus and Peter. Let Harry have a bit of time to cool down."
"Running away from your problems won't solve them, James!" Lily called after him. James merely waved back at her without turning back around.
After a few minutes, Lily went into the garden, walking up to Harry. He looked up at her with his normal, serious look.
"Dad didn't mean to upset you," Lily said carefully, sitting down beside him. "He just wants to spend more time with you, get to know you better."
Harry didn't say anything, but looked down at his book dully.
"Tell you what," said Lily after a minute, "would you like to go to Diagon Alley? We could go to Flourish and Blotts... and get an ice cream. How would that sound?"
Harry looked up at her, a genuine smile on his face. "Could we? Would I be allowed to get a book?"
"We'll see," answered Lily, smiling back. Harry did love his books.
The smile dropped a bit when Harry asked a bit apprehensively, "but- what about dad?"
"He's gone to visit Padfoot," said Lily quietly, watching his reaction. At these words, Harry jumped up and took her hand.
"Come on then, mum!" he said eagerly.
***
They travelled by Floo Powder up to the Leaky Cauldron. Although Voldemort was growing stronger, it was still safe to go to Diagon Alley, at least in the daytime. After they had arrived, Lily tapped the wall to bring them into Diagon Alley.
They went to Florean Fortescue's first, where Harry was amazed because his mum allowed him to get a *huge* ice cream. They ambled down the Alley, pointing at the interesting things in the windows and laughing together.
They finally reached Flourish and Blotts, Lily smiling as Harry *raced* in. In Harry's opinion, F and B's was the best shop in the *entire* world. He could spend the whole day there, just looking at the books.
Lily wandered around the front of the shop as Harry rushed down the rows and shelved and stacks of books, stopping every so often to exclaim, "look at *this* one, mum! It's the second volume of the one you got me last month!" Or, "*this* one's *really* rare! It's been out of print for ages!"
Lily had let Harry choose three books to buy, and he had just gone off to have one more look when she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around to meet the sympathetic brown eyes of Sarah Archer, a former work colleague. She smiled weakly at her.
"Lily!" said Sarah in her soft voice. "I haven't seen you in *such* a long time... how are you holding up?"
Lily swallowed, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Well, you know... it's one day at a time. I'm all right."
Sarah searched her face, obviously not believing her, as Harry came back from his expedition to stand by his mother's side. Sarah smiled at him.
"Is this Harry? I'm Sarah- I used to work with your mother. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about what happened..."
Lily watched with a sinking stomach as the bright look faded from her son's face and he looked at the floor, clutching his books tightly.
"Well- I'd better be gone," said Sarah after an awkward silence. "Lily- if you need anything, anything at all, *please* do owl me. Don't be a stranger. Good-bye, Harry." Giving Lily a parting hug, she left the shop.
Lily paid for the books in silence, looking worriedly at her son. Just as they had both put their hurt away for an afternoon, someone had to dredge it up again.
And all that Harry was thinking was: *why can't they all just leave me alone?*
***
Aargh! SOO depressing! This is the most depressing chapter of everything I've ever had to write... well, except chapter 11 of Interesting Times. Poor everyone! Sam's death has changed James from a happy-go-lucky prankster into a really worried person who won't show his emotions, especially towards his son. Lily and especially Harry are well screwed up too. Oh dear. But please review!