The next morning I am awake much earlier than I had intended to be. I hardly had any sleep last night by the time Ben left. The whole thing seems like a dream to me, but the little note on my kitchen counter says otherwise, where his address was hastily scribbled last night.

I drink my coffee like it is the elixir of life, trying to get rid of the strange, hazy feeling I have felt from the shock of all that has happened, trying to ground myself to reality. I owe Harry very much, but also Ben's niece. Ben had suggested last night we go on a fishing trip together over the summer and bring them as a thank you. He says he knows a spot his father used to take him when he was a boy. I have yet to decide over the matter, but right now I am content with the thought of seeing Harry when class is over for the day and thanking him properly. I've already written him a little note, asking him to meet me at home. Besides, I want to know just what my mother had to do with this whole charade, although I am betting she was the distraction, albeit a welcome one.

***

Harry comes flying into my quarters after school with the biggest grin on his face, and I'm waiting for him. The first thing I do is catch him (a difficult task given his speed) and give him the biggest hug of his life.

"Daaad I can't breathe!" he tells me, and I let him go. He's making a face, but he looks pleased with himself.

"Harry, you astound me," I tell him, shaking my head. "I really am impressed. Thank you. Ben and I talked so long I was tempted just to bring him to class in the morning!"

"Well, I thought you would appreciate it," Harry says with a shrug. "Of course, Dumbledore helped too. I had to ask him permission to bring someone to the school to see you, you know. And Ben's sister was nice enough to apparate him here and bring him inside - you know, muggles can't see the school until they're in the grounds. And Eleanor was the one who wrote him the letter -"

"I know, Harry, but I thought I should thank you first," I tell him with a laugh. "And you can tell your friend Eleanor she has my gratitude as well."

"I'll be sure to tell her," Harry says, swelling with pride. "You got to see an old friend, and I made a new one! Ella's the best - she does these really cool drawings and she did one of Hedwig and said I could keep it!"

I laugh slightly, "Well, then perhaps Ben's suggestion isn't as crazy as I thought."

"Huh?"

"He thought it might be fun if the four of us went fishing over the summer. If you like the idea."

     "Wicked! I like Ben too - he's awesome. You know, he was started telling me stories about you while we waited for you to get here - it was hilarious!"

"What kind of stories," I say, rolling my eyes. I should have known.

"Well," Harry begins, his words coming out in a rush as he grins at me, "he said this one time when you guys were on the ship a few days from the Falklands there was this one night where everyone was really nervous and jumpy and just wanted to get their minds of it and have some fun and forget about everything. So someone dared you and Joey and a few others -"

Oh no ... I think, eyes widening.

" - to run the length of the ship -" Harry continues.

He didn't.

"- in just your dog tags!" Harry cries at the exact same time, like it is the best thing ever.

He did, the arse.

"Remind me to thank Ben for that," I say, embarrassed.

"And the best part! What was the best part? Come on dad!"

I crack a smile at last, starting to laugh. "I got to be the flag bearer," I mutter, sure my face is as red as a sunset. For a moment, I grow serious and add," and if you ever tell anyone that you will know a whole world of hurt, young man."

"Yes Dad," Harry says seriously before cracking a smile again. "Did you guys really not get in trouble?"

"True. Everyone thought it was so funny all of the people in charge said it was good for morale," I say, rolling my eyes and fighting another laugh. "Please tell me that was all Ben told you."

"That was the worst of it, yeah. He must be the coolest Uncle ever!"

"Yes, I imagine so, just so long as Miss Crandall does not start telling stories about the adventures of a sillier sort that Ben and I took part in while overseas." I cringe slightly, but I am not too worried. I know Ben won't mention anything too embarrassing to a student of mine. Harry's an exception, and I know he's only doing that because he knows Harry will think it's funny. "But enough distraction - what did your grandmother have to do with this whole stunt?"

"Grandma was awesome!" Harry tells me, sinking into the chair. "I sent her a letter to run my idea by her - she thought it was great. So, she agreed to help get you out of the castle, which was good because she'd wanted to ask you to tea for a while anyway."

"I will have to make sure to thank her at Christmas," I say, chuckling.

Harry and I talk for a long time, and I tell him about the notebook that my mother had found. Harry is astounded.

"Have you read it yet, huh, Dad?" he asks eagerly, on the edge of his seat.

"No," I say to him, my eyes downcast. "I haven't gotten a chance."

I dismiss the subject, and instead tell him of some of the more noteworthy things that I discovered last night regarding Ben's survival. We talk a long time, and then say goodbye. The notebook sits on my shelf, and it stares me in the face.

Somehow, I am afraid to open it.

***

It is the middle of the night, and the castle is silent. I walk through the corridors, the feel of the stone under my shoes grounding me to an earth that my mind has left for the time being. The notebook is in my pocket. I am searching through the castle, looking for somewhere, anywhere, as though I want a place to read it. This is really just a distraction, and my head goes in circles again and again, always returning to the point of origin - that steady ache that is forever there when I think of my father and the war. My father's voice lies in a book in my pocket, and why, why have I yet to read it? When I first stepped into the corridors I had fooled myself into thinking that I needed a quiet, calm place, away from the distractions of grading and test papers. Yet all of that stays in my office. No school work enters my quarters unless I absolutely cannot help it, except perhaps Harry's, and only that which I do not need to mark. It is my wall between teaching and life, something I have always worked hard to keep separate if possible. So there are no distractions after all.

That is, of course, because I am the distraction. My own head is the source of noise. The clatter of boots and spray of guns and the wreckage illuminated by the flares that rise in the night. I want to open the book, but I fear it. I fear what is written, the words that will become the final dialogue to me by my father. What will I find there, and how will it make me feel? Will it be filled with simple things of a life that I can never truly go back to? Will it bring me back to the war after all these years? And even though I feel the familiar stone of Hogwarts under my boots I fear that somehow, if I read those letters, I will find myself in a dugout as the flares arc overhead, the year 1983 and my life about to change irrevocably.

How much will these letters change me? Can they change me? I long for a place that is safe, a place that nothing can hurt me in, where I am not reminded of my own aloneness ... a place I can breathe. And that is when I see the door handle materialize opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, its silver handle melting into existence in the plain stone wall.

With my head in circles, no answer of what this place is comes to mind - just flares and guns and broken hearts and silver tags and black water. So I close my eyes and open the door.

It's a room, and yet it isn't just a room to me. The door closes softly behind me, and I feel myself begin to tremble when I realize that somehow, some way, this room is my father's study back at the now empty Spinner's End. It is the same as I remember it, in every way, just as it was thirty years ago when I was just a lad. It's just as small, and dimly lit with only a tiny window that I can see out of, and the laundry is still hanging out on the line just outside. There is a stack of notepaper and envelopes, a tray full of bills and receipts. It looks as though it always did when he was alive, organized but in a disorderly way, its manner speaking of a life that is now long gone. A life that can never return. I feel my knees go weak and I sink to the ground.

What is this place, this place that can somehow bring me to this old room, this memory? I wonder if the corridor is still out there, but I fear that if I open the door, the study will be gone.

My head spins too much to understand, but all I can think of is that it's everything I had wanted while I was wandering the corridors. So, whether I am imagining this or not, I lean against the soft pillow that rests against the wall. The plush orange carpet is slightly scratchy, and the pillow feels just like it always did, but smaller. It is so familiar it makes my chest ache, because Dad use to keep this pillow here exactly for the purpose of me sitting and chattering away at him while he worked. He wasn't like some dads, who did not want to hear any talk when they were doing important things. I always got the sense that it was my talk that was one of the truly important things, and the papers only a distraction from them. That's what made him a good father.

I take in a deep breath and find that it even smells the same. The faint scent of coffee and the slightest trace of stale cigar smoke fills my senses. The scent is so relaxing it is almost intoxicating. I close my eyes, and quite suddenly I could be five years old, eating an oatmeal biscuit and getting crumbs on Dad's carpet while he tells me stories and organizes papers. For some time I just sit here, breathing in the familiar air, but at last I open my eyes. I half expect to see Dad sitting in the old wooden chair with its curved arms, but it is still empty. That ache returns, and more than anything right now, I want to hear Dad's voice. So I slide the notebook from my pocket, rubbing my gritty, tired eyes and flipping to page one.

Dear Son,

The house is quiet without you, so I'm writing this to keep myself occupied. I wish I could send all of these letters, but unfortunately I know from experience how unreliable the post system can be in a war. I hope you get the chance to read these someday upon your return, even if they don't end up containing anything all that wise.

It is strange thinking that you are headed off to a war. Only a few hours ago we were eating breakfast together, and now you are shipping off to what will probably be the hardest time in your life. You know, I had always thought that Korea was the hardest time in my life, but I admit it was harder to let you go than it was for me to leave for war so many years ago. I thought I said all my goodbyes the first time, back when I went to Korea. I guess I wasn't done. Nobody said that it would be easy to let you go like that, but nobody really said that it would be that hard either. I just hope it doesn't remain goodbye.

I promised your mother I would let her be alone for a little while, so she can process everything. I wish I could sit by her all day, but I suppose everyone needs a moment of silence to realize the harder things in life. Would you believe she's taken every photograph with one of us in uniform - old and new - and put them in an envelope and hidden them away? Only the ones of us out of uniform are left. I think she doesn't want to remember where you are just now. I'll keep quiet about it for a day or two, let her do what she needs. Apparently my own mother simply refused to eat for a few days after I left, so I think she's doing admirably, considering. I suppose that it didn't help I was an only child too. She'll come round though. Do not worry about us.

I hope things are going well as you get on your way. Don't worry too much about what's to come. Worry does not change the future or the past.

I think I'll go check on Eileen,

Dad

The letters go on like this, talking of simple things, and what's going on at home. They give me a strange feeling. A sense of loss, perhaps. Around the fifth one, they start to change slightly.

Dear Severus,

Today I started to wonder if I told you that I love you enough. I wonder if this is how my father felt when I left for war. He was a very quiet man - well, you know how he was. Hardly said a thing. I'm not sure if he ever told me he loved me, but I always knew because of the things he did for me, or the sort of soft smile he would get when I made him proud. I've started to wonder if you could tell my feelings just by looking too, because even though I could see my father's love, I couldn't see how deep it went. Down the road, when Lily has the baby you will know how I feel, but right now I wonder if you know how much I love you. I have not said it as often as I would have liked to, and with you overseas I've found myself wondering if it could ever have been enough just saying it.

I'm not sure if I could ever find the right words, and if I could I would go to the end of the earth just to find that right word so you knew right now. It's funny how children turn their parents sentimental from the moment they are born. I used to think that I was so aloof and tough, and that that was what proved a man's worth. If my comrades could see me now, I have no doubt that those without children would shake their heads, but those with a son or daughter would understand that it really is the most terrifying thing to pour your soul into something the moment you set eyes on it. Yet, somehow, it happens whether you want it to or not. I've come to believe that learning to live with not only your own suffering, but to suffer also the trials of another, is the real proof of a man's worth. Being a father is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I hope that fatherhood is something that you will be blessed enough to be challenged with.

Stay safe. Keep a cool head, and trust your instincts. Trust luck as well. A soldier cannot afford not to.

Love, Dad

I pause, tracing the handwritten words on the page. My father did love me, but at that time, fathers didn't really say that they did. It is strange to see such words in writing. I wipe my eyes and keep reading. The letters often tell of simple things, but sometimes they tell more than what Dad seemed to manage to actually send to me. Maybe that's why he didn't send some of them, because some I would not have been ready to read where I was.

Dear Severus,

I hope you shall return, but I am afraid you will go through the same things I did if you do. I am haunted by dreams of Korea still, after all these years. And while the scars have faded on my body it seems like my mind remembers them too well, and I hope that you do not have to relieve your experiences every night as I do. I hope you never have to have dreams like this. But if you do, know that you aren't alone. There was nobody around to tell me that the nights are always the worst, and I had to learn that myself. I also had to learn that the days get better with time, and that when it's dark out you must remember that the sun does come up, and that morning is never as far as you think it is.

I wish I could have done something to keep you from having to go. War isn't like what you always though it was, Severus, as a boy. It wasn't what I had thought it was as a boy when I went either. It makes everything get lost, turns everything from black and white to grey. It isolates you, so much. When you return you may find this, that it is so much harder to be understood and not to build walls against people. For you this will be difficult especially, because you already have had to build so many walls thanks to your spying for the light, and the way the other children treated you. I am sorry for the last one especially, because I could not be there when you were away at school.

Around people, I was more open than you at that age, I think, before the war. But when I got back, I built many barriers. I wish I hadn't pushed people away. I remember my family calling me a hero for what I did, even your mother to some degree when I told her of some of the things that happened. I'm not sure they know what a hero really is, and I felt the same then. I pushed people away, sometimes your mother, but she was patient with me. Promise me that you won't build walls, Severus, even when people don't understand. It's walls that stop people from understanding in the first place, and I know that will be especially hard when you return to Lily.

I made the mistake of trying to protect Eileen from the horror I went through. Sure, I had good intentions, and sometimes that is what helps people, but what your mother wanted was to share my pain, and make it easier, because she loved me. Don't push out people you love and hide the bad things from them if they want to help you. Lily especially. She is so strong, and she will want to be there for you, even though she could not be with you.

Love Dad

Lily. I look up from the book, rubbing my eyes. None of us guessed it, not me, not my mother, not my father, and not Lily. Who knew that I would return, and not her? Oh Lily, I think. How I wish I could have shared my burdens with you when I returned. I wish you could have been there too. I never thought I would return to an empty bed like I did.

I sink back against the pillow, wondering. Who have I shut out? What walls have I built? Dad is right. It is easy to build walls. I just wish it was easier to tear them down.

Dear Son,

Lily was over for dinner today. She's as round as a pumpkin! I teased her that she looked like one, actually, because she was wearing orange. She laughed, of course. The baby is very close to coming, but it's still hanging in there. Your mother thinks it's going to be a girl - I suppose she would know more than I, but secretly, I'm really hoping for a boy, although I'll love any grandchild I end up with. If it is a girl, I just hope she likes fishing, is all. Remember the time I tried to take you fishing for the first time, Severus? I think you must have been four. Yes, that sounds right.

I'll never forget the look on your face when you held the fish I caught. It flopped its tail, and you jumped so bad it went flying into the lake! You screamed so loud the fishermen were claiming you scared the fish away. That was the end of that. I've always found it rather funny that fish make you squirm so, considering all the slimy dead things you have to cut up for potions. So, needless to say, and no offence to my favourite son, but I'd be rather pleased to have a grandson to take out on the water a bit.

Hope things are going smoothly for you,

Love Dad

"I didn't scream," I mutter to myself, rolling my eyes. I stare at the chair for a second, imagining my father sitting there and raising his eyebrow. "Alright, I did."

I chuckle slightly.

"And thanks to that father son outing, I had nightmares about giant fish for weeks," I mutter under my breath, wondering if he can hear me. "And would you look at that. You got your wish. Harry's been bothering me to take him fishing for ages, all thanks to your little trips with him, you old codger."

I shake my head, and read on. The letters go on, and there is indeed one for every day. There's one for the day the Dark Lord decided Lily was a threat, the day they went into hiding, and there's one for the day that we lost her. It's hardly any words at all. It doesn't need to be.

My Dear Son,

Dumbledore has sent you the message, so you won't hear it from me. But I need to say it. Harry is safe, thankfully. Oh Severus, I am so sorry. We lost Lily today. I wish I could do more. I wish I was there with you. I wish you had been given the chance to be there for her. I wish I was there to tell you it isn't your fault. I wish so many things, and I am sorry to say they can only be wishes. She was a daughter to me, and I am sorry we could not do something. I know you're hurting right now, but you won't always hurt this way. It will fade with time, but that doesn't make it easy. I know, son, but it will be alright with time.

Lots of Love,

Dad

And has it, I wonder. Has it gotten less painful? I shake my head, and in some ways it hurts me to think that it has, that I don't miss her quite the way I used to. I have learned to get by without her, and I am not sure what to think about this. I miss her very much, but maybe I have started to move on. This is a thought I will consider later, so I keep reading through the letters, page after page after page. It is late at night when I reach the last one. I pause before reading it, fingering the paper. At last, I look down, and I read.

Dear Severus

I get to go and get you today. We are excited. Your mother has been pacing with the baby for some time now, anxious for you to get home. I was so afraid you would not return. I wish you did not have to come back to find Lily gone. Life is so full of cruel surprises. But you are alive, and Harry is here. You will make a wonderful father, and I am thankful every day that he survived, because as long as Harry is here, so is Lily. He is your link to her, and her link to you. Cherish him, always, as I cherish you. I have missed you, and I know right now all you are probably able to think about is how much you miss Lily. But, you know, I do not think people we have loved and lost are as far away as they seem. I still see things that remind me of my father, or of the friends I lost in Korea. They're all there. They never really leave you, because the ways that they changed you are there forever.

You are changed forever for having known Lily, and isn't it better to be glad for all the good ways she changed you, than to be angry at the world for all the things it has changed by taking things away? I have come to see that war is similar. I would not trade the friends I came out of it with for the world, even though what we went through was terrible. Just as I would not trade it now because had I not gone into the army, I may never have met your mother, and therefore never met you. I suppose my final piece of advice to you, before I go and bring you home, is that hard things in life may change everything, but it's the way we look at it that counts. Look for the good, Severus, even if it hurts searching.

Love Dad

I close the book, and as I do so I think that all these letters would never have been written if I didn't have to go away. Right now, my father feels closer to me than he has in many years, even more so than he did on some days when he was alive. I think this is what he was talking about.