Harry sighed; a long drawn out sound of weariness. This was not an unexpected question. As much as he and Ginny tried to shelter the children from the public eye, and their own roles in the War, all the children had asked him, sooner or later.

With James, it had been in the first letter home from Hogwarts. Gryffindor House had a portrait of Harry right in their common room, and the other students were delighted to tell James the story.

Albus had waited until the end of that first year. He'd read about it in the library and had talked it over with Scorpius and Rose before coming to Harry. He knew much more about the about what the history books had to say than Harry did. Albus had wanted (characteristically) to check with the primary source.

Ginny and Harry had been a bit more proactive with Lily, telling her the story in bits and pieces over the years, since the boys would bring it up.

Tim...well, in all things, Tim was different. Harry often thought that it was strange, but the child where he could see the most of himself was the child not his by blood.

People often remarked that James was a risk taker like Harry (that always made Harry wince) and that Albus was his spitting image. Al was much more like Ginny though, champion of the oppressed, and smart as a whip. Harry could only conclude that James was like his grandfather. Well, that's what he got for naming the child after James Potter and Sirius Black. What had they been thinking? Lily was all Weasley, from her red hair to her hot temper, she seemed able to turn into her grandmother at the drop of a hat.

Tim was a quiet child, rather shy in fact. His style was to watch others before he tried anything new. Sensitive, oddly mature and slow to warm up to people, Harry hadn't been at all surprised to see him sorted into Slytherin, although he would have fit into any of the houses. He was, like Al, blindingly intelligent. The circumstances of the child's life had required great courage and fortitude, and he had an unshakable sense of honor and fairness. Perhaps, because he understood that the world was inherently unfair. However, he had a thirst to prove himself that the others didn't have, more than likely because the others had always been safe and comfortable.

Curiously, Harry also found that there were many Halfbloods in Slytherin. He wouldn't have believed it, but after the War, when he finally read Hogwarts: A History, he discovered that Slytherin was the traditional house of Halfbloods, for all of old Salazar's supposed preference for Purebloods.

Tim had never asked before, not about Harry's status in the magical world. He knew Harry was an Auror, but apart from visiting Harry's boss, Roz, whom the boy was very fond of, he didn't appear to take an interest in Harry's work at all.

Harry assumed it was because Tim didn't like to talk about the events surrounding his adoption by the Potters. Tim had absolutely no interest in talking about dark wizards, since he knew personally what they were capable of. He was content to know that his parents would keep him safe.

Other things about Harry's life caught his interest. It had been two years ago that Tim had confronted Harry with the book Dudley had written about he and Harry's childhood, which had ended up on one of Tim's shelves. It had been just after they'd returned to England from their extended stay in the Carribean. Tim had been tanned bronze, with hair bleached to a Malfoyesqe blond. Still small, but agile and strong from two years spent swimming in the warm ocean.

He had pulled the book out the first night they'd been home, "This is you, isn't it?" he'd said to Harry, who had come to tuck him in.

Harry had considered denying it, the story a little too painful to want to relive with one of the children. But, he'd become allergic to secrets and lies after the War.

"Yes." he'd said, simply.

Tim had eyed him for a while, before saying, "Your aunt and uncle sound like bloody bastards." Tim had gotten over his habit of cursing, but he sometimes reverted to it when he felt strongly.

"Yes." Harry had agreed.

"That's why you took me?" Tim had asked, quietly.

"Maybe, at first," Harry had said, carefully, "But, we kept you, because we love you."

The child had just stared at him, rather skeptically.

"Some people are born with their families," Harry had hastened to explain, "But, people like you and I, we have to find our families. I found your Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione first. And then, my godfather. Then Gran and Grandad Weasley, and your Mum." Harry had smiled at Tim's changing expressions, the skeptical frown slowly replaced by a shy smile,"Now, I have more family than I know what to do with."

Tim had apparently been satisfied, because he'd not brought it up again.

Now, the child wanted to know about the War.

Harry wasn't sure where to start, "I'm not entirely sure what happened." He said, finally, "It was...strange." He wasn't entirely sure what Tim already knew about the War, so he asked, "What did you want to know?"

"They said a dark wizard killed your parents." Tim replied, "And, that he couldn't kill you and that you're immune to the Unforgivable Curses and that the dark wizard killed you and you came back." He said, it in a rush, with hardly any space between words.

Harry shook his head, "I'm not immune to the Unforgivables, it's just that Voldemort had tied us together. His magic wouldn't work properly on me-first, because my mum had taken a Killing Curse meant for me. And then," Harry shivered, involuntarily. Even after all these years, the memory of that cemetery still haunted his nightmares, "He kidnapped me and used my blood in a dark spell to give himself more power." Harry skipped over huge chunks of the story, more for his own sake than for Tim's, "And then, four years later, he threw a Killing Curse at me and it...went wrong somehow."

"Did you fight him?" asked the boy, breathlessly, "Is that how you died?"

How to explain that whole mess? Harry took a deep breath, "Well, he had made it so he couldn't die. He'd put bits of himself into objects, to keep himself alive. He accidentally put a bit of himself into me. When I found out, the only way I could get rid of it was to let him kill me."

Harry shuddered, flashing on how he had discovered that he needed to allow Voldemort to kill him. How Snape had given him his memories, as his life blood spilled across the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

"Take it." Snape had said.

Harry used to have dreams of Snape's death regularly. It had taken him years to stop waking up in a cold sweat, with Snape's last words reverberating through his mind, "Look at me."

He'd thought on those words, picked them apart almost obsessively, in those first years after the War. He could only assume Snape had been looking for his mother's eyes for comfort, in his last moments.

"So, you did die?" Tim's eyes were huge.

Harry shrugged, "I don't know. I've never been able to work out exactly what happened. I..." Harry hesitated. He'd never told one of the children this part before, but he thought Tim needed to know, for some reason, "I had some sort of vision. I spoke with Professor Dumbledore. He'd been dead for a year by then, but he explained what I'd done, and what I needed to do. Then he told me that I could come back."

"What was it like?" Tim asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"It was...safe." Harry replied, "I'd been on the run for a year. We'd been hungry and cold all winter. By that time, I was so tired of everything. I just wanted it to be over."

Still whispering, Tim asked, "Why did you come back?"

"I had to, I suppose." Replied Harry, thoughtfully, "I woke up and Voldemort's magic wouldn't work properly against me anymore. Honestly, I don't remember much about the last battle. I slept for a week after it, I think." Harry smiled a little, although he didn't like to remember that time.

"Who told you, you had to die?" Tim's voice had an intense note to it.

Harry looked down at his face, as he spoke, "Professor Snape. Well, he didn't actually tell me, he gave me his memories." That was always the strangest part of the whole battle, to Harry. That Snape had so clearly anticipated his own death. He'd left the Pensieve where Harry could find it, Harry had been there when the man had died. At the time, he'd still believed Snape was responsible for Dumbledore's death. If Harry had come upon Snape himself, he would not have listened to anything the man said. But, somehow, Harry had been swayed by the potion master's dying wish.

"Why? How?" Tim's voice was unwontedly sharp.

"He was dying. Voldemort had wounded him." Involuntarily, Harry pictured the whole scene. He shivered, trying not to remember the claustrophobic feeling of the tunnel, the sound of Voldemort's voice and the horrible sounds Snape had made when Nagini had bitten thorugh his throat, "It was horrible. Anyway, Professor Snape somehow used a spell to make his memories into something I could put into a Pensieve. They explained everything."

"Did the Dark Lord find out that he was a traitor?" asked the boy, enthralled.

Harry wondered if the Slytherins still called Voldemort "The Dark Lord" among themselves, "No. Voldemort never did. See, he thought that if he stole Dumbledore's wand from his tomb, he'd be invincible. Then, he thought that the Dumbledore's wand wouldn't work for him because Professor Snape had been the one to kill Dumbledore. He thought that, if he killed the professor, he'd get special powers from the wand. It didn't work, because Dumbledore was already dying. He'd asked Professor Snape to help him die, so the wand never changed allegiance. But Voldemort thought Professor Snape was the wand's master."

Harry looked down to see if Tim was following noticed the child's eyes were suddenly suspiciously bright, "You all right?"

Tim shook his head, "I don't know...just, all of a sudden, I feel like...I don't know." The boy cleared his throat, "That's really sad."

Harry nodded. Given Tim's experience, he often empathized deeply with other people's loss, "I don't know if we should keep talking about this, if it upsets you."

"No. How did it end?" Tim asked, anxiously, "How did you not die?"

Harry suppressed a sigh, he knew Tim wouldn't let it go, "I did fight Voldemort. I didn't kill him though, he tried to cast another Killing Curse at me. Dumbledore's wand wouldn't work right for him, and his spell rebounded on him."

"But, you meant to kill him?" Tim asked, in that strangely intense voice.

Harry shook his head slowly, "No. There was only once I've every used a Killing Curse." He said, somberly. Again, it was more than he would have told the other children at eleven, but Tim had witnessed the one time Harry had ever killed anyone. It was something they usually only talked about in Phoebe's office.

Tim nodded, snuggled up more closely to Harry's side. He seemed to have run out of questions, for now. After a few minutes, Tim's body relaxed, his breathing slowed. Three days of healing potions did that.

Harry settled the child down in the bed, spelled the lights to low, took a seat in the rocking chair. He tilted his head back and let himself doze.

It was several hours later that Molly peeked in, "Harry dear?" she said, tapping gently on the door to announce herself, "You haven't eaten anything this evening."

Blearily, Harry opened his eyes, "Hmm?"

She smiled at him, rather indulgently, "I sent Ginny to bed, already. Why don't you go on to bed, as well? I'll sit with him."

Harry shook his head, rubbed one of his eyes with the heel of his hand, "No, that's all right, Molly. I doubt I'd sleep."

Molly came in, transfigured one of the cushions to another rocking chair, "Well, I'll sit with you, then." she said to him, gently.

"How is he?" Molly asked, nodding to the sleeping boy.

"Better. Did Al tell you James and I were shouting right outside the door, and I forgot I hadn't put the silencing spell back up?" Harry felt terrible. He knew the last thing Tim needed, at the moment, was to be woken by the sound of angry male voices.

Molly nodded, summoned her bag of knitting. She didn't say anything for a bit, her needles flashing as she knitted.

"James come back?" Harry asked, heavily.

Molly shook her head, "No, Hermione sent an owl. He's staying over there until you both cool off."

"Probably best." Harry said, wryly. He leaned back, "God, how did you stand it, Molly?" he asked. He felt terrible for all the anxiety he and Ron had put Molly through.

She glanced up with a bit of a grin, "I swear it wasn't me who cursed you, Harry."

"Sorry?" Harry looked up at Molly in confusion.

"The Mother's Curse." She said, placidly.

Harry shook his head, "You lost me." He half smiled.

"May you have one just like you." Molly's eyes twinkled, "I may have wished that on Ginny, poor dear."

Molly's gentle humor relieved some of the weight of guilt from Harry's chest, "So is he just like me?"

"In some ways." Molly tilted her head to the side, "How did he get hurt?"

"He was just supposed to be observing this suspect, you know, waiting until back up came. He got impatient and, when it looked like the suspect was going to apparate, he just confronted him alone." Harry clenched his fists, fighting down the fear that rose up from his gut to strangle him.

"Did he manage to get him?"

"Yes, more's the pity." Growled Harry, "Instead of being disciplined for violating procedure, he's gotten his first arrest within six months of fully qualifying as an Auror. The whole department is just completely impressed and his recklessness is going to get him killed. Naturally, he thinks I'm just overreacting." Harry drew in a ragged breath, "He brought up the War, and some of those stories Ron's been filling his head with. I sort of lost it, I think."

Molly nodded sympathetically.

Harry smiled, lopsidedly, "If anyone cursed me, it was Snape. I seem to remember him going mad at me for being reckless, more than once. And, god, trying to teach me Occlumency. What a disaster. Poor devil."

"Ron has it that you and he were model students." Molly observed with a smirk.

"I have a better memory than Ron." Harry remarked, sourly, "I just remember spending half my life being scared out of my wits. I also remember the close shaves better than he does."

They were silent again. Harry let his eyes drift shut.

It felt very late, when Tim's whimpering woke Harry. Ernie had told them to expect something like this, but it didn't make it easier to see his son sitting bolt upright, his whimpers turning to screams as one of his night terrors took hold.

Harry jumped up from his chair, put his hands on Tim's shoulders, "Shh...love you're dreaming." he said, giving the Tim a gentle shake.

Tim's eyes were wide and unseeing, the screams issuing from his mouth sounded as though the child were being murdered. It had been years since Tim had had one this bad. Harry looked into Tim's eyes, using a bit of gentle Legilimency to pull him away from the fear, as he had done a hundred times before.

Tim's mind flinched away from his. When he was caught up in one of these terrors, he could never tell who Harry was, at first.

"Just me." Harry said, both mentally and out loud, "It's okay, you're home, you're safe." Tim's mind wasn't as open as it used to be. That was normal, as children grew up, they certainly didn't want other people poking about in their minds.

As Tim woke up, and was no longer in the grips of whatever visions were tormenting him, Harry felt him give a mental shove, trying to throw him out. Harry withdrew gently, surprised. That was new, perhaps Tim was a natural Occlumens. It wouldn't be that strange, given Tim's tendency towards reticence.

The child was fully awake now, his eyes sensible. After a moment though, Tim's eyes slid shut again and he lay back down.

Only then did Harry realize Molly must have either gone home or gone to sleep in the guest room, leaving Harry sleeping in the rocking chair with a blanket over him. Wearily, Harry transfigured the rocking chair into a camp bed and lay down on it.