Chapter Nine; the Slow Gun Was Stolen

There was a very peculiar memory, one etched into the back of Harry’s mind since early childhood. A snippet, truly, that he was reminded of at the most random moments.

“Harry,” Daddy was calling him, and Five-year-old Harry was perched on the edge of their table, mildly swinging his legs and staring at the ceiling with mild wonder.

“Yes Daddy,” Harry replied.

Dad was cutting up some leeks for their dinner. “What happened to the man in Norway?”

Harry giggled, and he clapped his hands. “His slow gun got stolen!” he was filled to the brim with mirth. He loved that rhyme, it made no sense, there was hardly any context to it but Harry loved it, so much.

Dad had ruffled his hair. He smelled like leeks and tomatoes. “That’s good.”

Sometimes Dad didn’t sing the rhyme anymore, at the breakfast table every few months, between his bites of scrambled eggs all he had to say was, “That man in Norway,”

And Harry always automatically replied with “Slow gun got stolen,”

When he was being tutored about something completely unrelated, his dad mildly hummed while they were on a break and said, “Remember that man in Norway,”

Harry didn’t even think about the answer. “His slow gun was stolen,”

“That’s right,” Then they were back to the tedious lessons as if nothing had happened.

As Harry steadily aged, their rhyme shortened considerably. In the living room of whatever house they had at the time, Dad would be sitting in his armchair, sifting through his journals. “Norway?” he would muse.

Harry would look up from his own book with a slight nod. “Norway.”

“I knew a man once whose gun got stolen,”

“Is that a real thing?” he had asked once.

Dad was writing a letter, to Santa’s enemy, Harry had assumed. “Hmm?”

“That rhyme?” Harry was much older than the last time they’ve played. About thirteen. “What happened to the man in Norway? You really seem to like it Dad,”

Dad had waved him off, tying the letter and a purple vial to an unsuspecting Owl. “It’s not a real event no,” he had turned to Harry, “Just something I made up when you were a child, I don’t know why it calmed you down, but it did.”

Thus, the man in Norway was born to be the only riddle Harry couldn’t solve.

**

This was one of his earliest memories, of Harry sitting on the kitchen table, kicking his feet back and forth, with Dad in the chair in front of him, holding his hands steadily. “If the strange man says do you want a chocolate, what would you say Harry?”

The toddler breamed. “Good!”

Severus visibly slumped. They had been doing this for a while. “No,”

Harry, despite hearing this for probably the tenth time, gasped in astonishment. “No?”

Dad had rolled his eyes with a smirk. “No. you have to say no. If the strange man asks your name?”

Harry had smiled. He knew the answer to this one. “I’m Harry James!”

Dad surprisingly sighs again. “No, Harry pay attention please,”

Harry thought this was a new game back then, and he reveled in the look of resignation on his father’s face, even though he got the wrong answers every time. He had memorized each and every little line and crook of his Dad’s face, every small twitch and expression, Harry knew by heart. He loved cataloguing them.

“But Daddy that’s my name!” he exclaimed.

“But the strange man wouldn’t know that alright?” Dad tapped his hand. Harry liked tapping things.

“Only I’ll call you by your full name,” he said and Harry’s smile expanded.

“Always?”

“Always and forever.” He promised, “If someone asks, you shouldn’t answer at all, alright?”

“But what if he really wanted to know?” that was a genuine question. Harry was curious about a lot of things, there might be other people like him out there, Harry wouldn’t have known, he hadn’t met a lot of them.

“Never tell him if he seems scary.” Dad replied. “And if you ever got lost, you run and find a safe person, if they asked your name to find me, you’d say ‘I’m Harry, and I lost my daddy, and his name is Sam Stevens’.”

He looked a bit relieved that they had gotten this far, during this round of the game. This was new information to Harry, who had no concept of fake names and false identities as a four year old. “But your name is Sev-er-rus!”

Dad’s cheek twitched, and Harry’s kicking legs came to a halt, that wasn’t a happy twitch, Harry knew. Dad stared at him, there was a small pause before he nodded his head. “I know that Harry, we both do alright?” he said, squeezing Harry’s hands. “But it’s all make-believe. We’re playing a game, and we should always win.”

The game was the only thing that mattered. Harry knew that already. He was going to be a good boy.

“Okay,” he tapped Dad’s hand in confirmation.

Dad’s face did a happy twitch that expanded into a smile. “Good. Now if a strange man or woman ever asked to touch your forehead what will you do?”

Harry knew this one. “I scream for you and then start running to find a safe person.”

Daddy ruffles his hair. “That’s right.”

Dad was very serious when it came to Harry and other people who weren’t Dad, Harry knew this. He did know that Dad was a safe person, but they’ve never talked about other people who might be safe persons too.

“Daddy…how do I find a safe person?”

Severus seemed startled. “Well, I’m hoping that you’d never have to rely on them,” he said. “But they’re called ‘The Police’, they usually wear blue or black uniforms, and badges, it’s their job to help people.”

People in blue dresses. That was easy. Harry liked the color game. “Alright,” he could do that.

“Harry it’s very important that they don’t find out about your magic,”

In a manner, only specific to fatigued adults and toddlers, Harry whined. “But why?” it was too complicated, so many rules and not to do’s, it made Harry despise everything that wasn’t his father and their home. It took so much effort.

“We’ll lose the game that way alright? If there wasn’t any Police Officers around-that’s what they’re called- you should go into a shop or a store and ask the person behind the counter to contact the police because you got lost, alright?”

“Okay,” Harry conceded, but he was still pouting. Dad who must have seen it coming, plucked Harry off the table, and started heading to Harry’s room.

“Can you repeat that back to me before we take a nap?”

Harry did.


**

Shacklebolt walked a disoriented Harry past the guards and into an elevator, one that he vaguely remembered getting into a while back. He didn’t talk, didn’t ask unnecessary questions, he didn’t even move in his place. Harry was grateful.

The narrow halls were all empty, with only an odd office here and there occupied. Shacklebolt led him past all these rooms to a cramped office at the very end of the corridor, and through that, inside another, rather cramped room.

“You wanted privacy,” the man said with his arms crossed as he turned to Harry.

“You changed your mind quickly,” Harry said.

Shacklebolt looked rather uncomfortable for a moment. “I needed to hear the rest,”

“The rest of what?” Harry thought that he knew already.

“The rest of all the things you wanted to say and never did.”


**


He’d just dropped Emily off by the bakery, stolen a quick kiss and a scone and was on his way back. He still didn’t go out in public much, but since that big argument he’s had with Dad nearly two months ago he’s been surprisingly lax with Harry’s security.

Dad claimed that Harry was old enough to realize right from wrong, and thus as long as he didn’t make any trouble, or escalate things too far with Emily, he was allowed to go out during the days only with a curfew. Harry had tried to push his boundaries on the curfew thing, but after a talk with Emily he found out that curfew was an ‘everyone’ thing and not just his dad’s paranoia.

He liked this, this kind of freedom. He still wasn’t comfortable enough to interact with total strangers in the busy streets, and he barely managed a fifty-second introduction with Emily’s mom, but he got to walk around the woods, watch people from atop of tall trees from afar and spend as much time with Emily as he wanted to.

Still, in spite of all of this, he couldn’t help but notice a small ridge that separated him from his father. Dad was acting odd lately, more distant than usual, and Harry for once in his life, had no idea how to counter the sudden withdrawal.

As he was busy kicking a pebble down the streets, his thoughts were interrupted by loud bark, moments before something barreled right into him, sending Harry-and the dog both the ground.

Harry groaned, wincing at the way his elbow throbbed. He must have grazed it on the ground. The dog- a black one by the looks of it was goofily staring back at him, his tongue lazily rolled out and his tail wagging. Harry had never pet a dog before.

“Hi there,” he said to the funny dog and scratched its head. The dog treated him with a lick across the face.

“Ew!” Harry laughed. The dog barked once more and Harry rolled his eyes. He had never had a pet before, Dad really didn’t like cleaning up after their mess and with the constant moving Harry really didn’t want to inconvenience the man further. This dog though, was the kindest one Harry had seen.

He stuck by Harry’s side as the boy stood and inspected the slight damage to his elbows. Small, barely noticeable grazes and a bit of detritus, he brushed them off.

Just then, he noticed a man approaching them. A rather familiar looking man. Presumably, the dog’s owner, or at least Harry hoped that he was. Tall, with honey colored hair and hazel eyes, in very shabby clothing. He was out of breath by the time he reached Harry and the dog.

“Hello!” the man panted out, before glaring down at the dog. Harry’s hold on the mutt’s neck tightened on instinct.

“Hi,” he said, he could be polite for now.

The man flashed him a quick smile, before reaching for the dog. “I’m very sorry if he frightened you, he’s a bit…enthusiastic,” Harry’s plastered smile was fixed in place as he reluctantly loosened his hold and the dog trotted to the man, whining in apology. They seemed to be familiar with each other so Harry wasn’t going to get too worried.

Instead of turning to leave though, the man and the dog kept staring at him, intently, as if Harry was a fascinating specimen they have never encountered before.

Harry cleared his throat. “May I help you?”

Their home was too far to make it by running, especially with the friendly dog, Emily’s was closer but…No. Harry didn’t want to hurt this familiar looking man or Emily on accident. This was probably nothing, and Harry was too paranoid.

The man scratched the back of his neck, opened his mouth and then closed it again. The dog’s sharp bark prompted him into speaking.

“Actually, yes.” The man said, throwing a flustered glance down at the dog. “You’re Harry, right?”

Harry’s heart froze in place, and his eyes widened. He knew Harry’s name. This wasn’t good.

“Do I know you?” he asked. His throat was dry and his hands clammy. There was something about this man’s voice, something awfully recognizable. His accent, perhaps.

“You might not,” the man said. “You were a small child the last time-.” it clicked then.

“You’re Santa’s enemy,” Harry said, astonished by the fact that it took him this long to recall. He’d only seen the man once but the pink scar on his face was too noticeable to miss. Harry remembered seeing this man, ranting and raving at his father. He couldn’t hear the words then, with a silencing charm in place, but everything else matched.

Santa’s enemy looked taken aback. “I’m what?”

Harry’s shoulders slightly relaxed. “Santa’s enemy,” he said, concealing a sigh of relief. “You came over to our house, the one who sends the brownies every Christmas,”

The dog yelped. Santa’s enemy gave Harry a strained smile. “I’m Remus Lupin.” He said as he extended a hand to Harry. “It’s very nice to finally meet you,”

“Oh, well you already know me.” Harry shook the man’s hand, the grip was stronger than he was expecting. “Does Dad know you’re here?”
Remus Lupin shrugged.

“Well, he might.” He said amicably, a flash passed through his eyes. Harry let go of the man’s hand. He had a bad feeling about this. Dad had always made his feelings very clear regarding Santa’s enemy. The brownies went to trash ever year, the potions were sent monthly without a response, Dad barely ever mentioned him. They shouldn’t have been on good terms then, and he would probably have a kitten if he saw Harry talking to the man.
“I feel like I’m not supposed to talk to you,” he said, praying that saying so wasn’t considered rude. “And your treats smell delicious by the way…I’ve never tasted one, since Dad throws them out every year,” he cringed at the way the dog growled. He had revealed too much. “But at least they look nice.” He said, in hopes that it will balance out his previous words somewhat.

Remus’s eyebrows were furrowed. “He throws them out?”

Harry hid another wince. “I don’t think it’s personal.” He said. “It’s on Santa’s behalf, apparently.” He realized that the man was still frowning. “Sorry, I have a terrible sense of humor, um…”

Remus was jolted out of his trance. “Oh it’s fine,” he smiled at Harry again.

“Yeah. I like your dog. I don’t get see many, what’s his name?”

“Padfoot,” Remus said. The dog barked in agreement.

“Padfoot?” Harry echoed. That was a peculiar name. “That’s nice. So…”

“Harry, do you want to grab a cuppa?”

Harry went very still. He didn’t exactly feel too uncomfortable around the man, but he wasn’t sure about this. “Oh, well I’m not really supposed to go anywhere with strangers,”

“I’m not a stranger though.” Remus insisted, a bit desperately. “I’m…a friend of your Dad. I think it’s time we finally talked over some things,”

Harry glanced down at the dog’s eyes and then nodded his head. He only had an hour left until his curfew, if anything happened to him, then Dad would know, and this man looked like a very lonely man with little company. Harry kind of felt sorry for him. One cuppa wasn’t going to hurt.

He had never set foot in the town’s coffee shop, and it turned out to be quite nice. With cozy looking chairs, and patterned cushions, orange lights. He felt at ease in that place, and somewhat to his shame, bewitched by the calming aroma. He and Remus settled on a table next to the window, which Harry chose on purpose.

“I don’t get to meet people much.” He said to the man, the dog obediently laid his head on the ground, near Lupin’s chair. “Actually this is a nice surprise, I barely know any one of Dad’s friends.”

Dad didn’t have any friends at all. Asides from Harry.

“He doesn’t have many,” Remus confirmed his thoughts. They ordered tea and chocolate truffles.

“I think it’s because we move too much.” Harry said as the tea mugs arrived. “He doesn’t have the time to get to know other people,”

“Right.”

Harry decided that enough was enough. He was going to cut the crap. “How did you find us?” he asked.

Remus fiddled with the truffle in his plate. “I had some business in town, it was accidental.”

“Right,” Harry couldn’t tell if the man was telling the truth. Although he really doubted he was. “So Remus, what do you do?”

“I…teach?”

“Yeah?” Harry sounded exactly like Dad in that moment. Snarky and amused by the man’s shifting.

“Well I used to,” Remus said. “I actually teach in the same school your parents went to,”

“Hogwarts?”

Remus’s hand paused in midair with the mug. “You know of it,” he sounded very surprised.

“Well, just the name.” Harry shrugged. “Dad doesn’t like talking about there much. You knew Mom?”

Mom was another thing dad didn’t like talking about. Harry wasn’t too bothered by her apparent lack of presence, so he didn’t bring it up after the argument, and Dad looked secretly relieved, so he didn’t push it.

Mom was a mystery.

Remus’s smile was fond and reminiscent. “I knew both your parents.” He said, deftly settling his mug down. He reached down to scratch Padfoot’s head. “Your father and mother both were very dear friends of mine,”

That sounded curious. “Dad doesn’t seem too fond of you now,” Harry pointed out. Maybe they had been estranged, maybe that was the reason why this Remus Lupin was so angry with Dad back then, and if Harry played his cards right, maybe he could make something out of this.

Remus looked bemused. “I meant your biological parents,” he said.

Harry leaned back in his seat. “You meant my Dad and my mom,” he must have heard him wrong, or maybe Harry had misspoke.
Remus interlocked his fingers on the tabletop. “Yes but…I didn’t mean Severus, Harry.” He said, his voice gentle, almost inaudible. “I meant James and Lily,”

Harry had no idea who these people were.

“I don’t know those people,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he pushed his chair back. “But my dad’s name is Severus.” He stood. “Maybe I should get going,”

This was a bad idea. He knew that it was. This man wouldn’t have been dubbed as ‘Santa’s Enemy’ if he were on good terms with his father. Harry still had half an hour left of his curfew. He could make it home on time and just claim that his date with Emily took longer than expected.

“He didn’t tell you,” Remus whispered. The dog, as if sensing his distress growled in protest.

“Tell me what?” Harry shouldn’t have asked that. He needed to leave. He had to leave.

“I knew he wouldn’t,” Remus’s previously kind face twists into a hateful glare as the man stares down at his tea. “I knew he would lie.”

Harry stepped back. He knew that he was more dangerous than this man, even though Lupin was acting pretty wild at the moment. He didn’t want to cause a scene.

“Harry, your parents sacrificed so much for you to be here with me today,” Remus said, standing as well.

This could be a prank, Harry thought. It wasn’t. It didn’t sound or look like a prank.

“My Dad is alive and my mother passed away when I was a child,” he said.

Remus huffed. “What was her name then?”

What was mom’s name? Why didn’t Harry know the answer to that question? It was such a simplistic one too. It had never occurred to him to inquire after the woman’s name. In his mind, the mysterious woman was only known as ‘mom’. Dad scarcely mentioned her, and when he did, he always called her ‘Your Mother’. Never by name. Harry didn’t know his mother’s name.

“I don’t know.” Harry snapped, defensively this time. “Dad doesn’t like talking about her, it makes him sad, so I never asked,” that was true.

“Severus Snape, lied about that Harry, your parents were magnificent people, Lily and James were so in love, they got married and they had you-.”
This was bullshit.

“I think I should leave,” Harry said again, this time fully intending on carrying out the threat. Lupin’s hand darted over the table and clasped around his forearm.

“Don’t you want to know the truth?” he asked.

Harry glanced down at the hand that gripped his arm. “My dad isn’t a liar,” he said.

“How would you know? Did he ever show you any pictures of your mother as a child? Did he ever mention her? Never said why you’re on the run? He stole you, Harry, the night your parents were murdered-.”

He tried pulling his arm away but Lupin persisted, seemingly unaware of his bruising grip in his rant.

“Stop, please,” Harry said.

“He came in and stole you from us. Padfoot and I are your godfathers, we’ve been looking for you for years, James, your biological father, that is, asked Severus to take you and run,” he sighed. “But there’s no reason to run now,”

“You’re crazy. You and the dog are my godfathers? If you hurt me Dad is going to kill you,”

“He’s not a dog.” Lupin exclaimed. “He’s Sirius Black, your father’s best friend.” At Harry’s disbelieving expression, he sighed once more. “I can prove it,” he said before glancing down at Padfoot. “Sirius, go and change back, please.”

Harry yanked his arm free. “Sir, you need help,” he said. He didn’t like touching people, he didn’t like the vibes he was getting from this creepy batshit crazy man. He needed to get away.

Remus paused for a moment, trying to recompose himself before he opened his eyes again. “Don’t you know about magic?” he asked, his eyes were practically beseeching Harry to say that he did. And Harry did know about magic.

“I know all about it,” he said, maybe a tad more darkly than he was intending to sound.

Lupin slumped down in relief. “He’s an Animagi.” He said, nodding down to Padfoot. “He can change to a dog at will.”

“Then why is he a dog now?”

“It’s a bit complicated,”

Harry scowled. “Tell me or I’ll scream,”

“He’s a fugitive,” Remus sighed, “But he’s innocent!”

Harry looked down at the innocuous creature. “That dog,” he said again. The dog in question barked in recognition, bumping his nose into Harry’s knee.

“Yes.” Remus hissed. “The dog.” He looked down at Padfoot. “Sirius, go and change now, please.” The dog exchanged a glance with him and then trotted out of the shop, leaving Harry gaping behind him. “You might want to seat back down, Harry,” Remus’s voice was gentle once more. “This is a long story.”

Harry sat, dazed.


**

“Now you know,” Severus said as Albus leaned back in his seat, voice dripping with a thick imaginary poison. “Congratulations, I suppose. You cracked another code, is your self-entitled brain resting easy now?”

The Headmaster smiled. “I wish I was happy about this discovery, Severus, but alas, I would be lying if I claimed as such.”

Severus didn’t resist rolling his eyes at the man. He was done with Dumbledore. Don with everyone, really. He was worried sick, concerned about Harry and where he was and what were they doing to him, whether he was being fed or if the ministry rats were bothering him. He didn’t have time to chat with Albus Dumbledore.

He gazed deep into the man’s eyes, “So you came all the way here, brought a trainer’s wand to prove a point, prove yourself right, and now that you know you’re right…” he shrugged. “What can you do? Nothing. This changes nothing. I kidnapped him. I kept him because I grew fond of him. I killed for him, I maimed for him…Doesn’t change the fact that I did.”

It was this truth in particular that really made his heart race. The possibility that his actions, the things that he had done in order to protect Harry were the same reason why he would be endangering his son now.

Albus, by the looks of things, disagreed with his assessment. “It all brews down to moral skepticism. What is considered right or wrong? Is it subjective?”

Severus curled a mouth, “I don’t know, Albus,” he said, nonchalantly. “Would you take it personally if I murdered you?”

The old man considered this. “I would understand if you did it in order to save the person you love,”

Severus rolled his eyes once more. It was miraculous, how his tolerance for stupidity and other people had sunken considerably in these years. Dealing with people who weren’t Harry was exhaustive now. “That logic is highly flawed,” he pointed out, but he had a feeling it was exactly the kind of thing Dumbledore wanted him to say.

“As is philosophy. As is our perception of ethics, of right and wrong.”

Yes, Severus decided. Pure stupidity, or rather, in Albus’s case, an irritating mysticism that was heavily unwarranted at the time. “I’m sitting in a prison cell,” he snapped. “I don’t get to be subjective about my actions, I’m being judged already,”

Albus’s smile expanded across his entire face. “And we’re back to moral skepticism. Don’t you just love the way of the world?” he looked very satisfied with the aforementioned conclusion.

“No.” Severus gritted his teeth. “But I’m glad you found a new hobby.”

Whoever introduced philosophy to Albus Dumbledore deserved a long, unrelenting bout of torture that could only result in death.
Albus got up from his chair, “Well, Severus, unlike you, I am currently free to make my own judgment.” The man said as he took out his wand once more to get rid of the chair.

Severus sneered. “Good for you,”

To his mild surprise, Albus then turned to him, the wand pointing steadily to his wrists. Or rather the shackles. “And my judgment is heavily advising me to wrap this up, lest we’ll be late.”

“Late for what?”

His shackles snapped free and fell down to his feet with a dull sound. Albus smiled. “For our grand prison breakout, of course,”


**

“Dad,”

It was way past midnight, and everywhere was dark except Dad’s room. The man liked reading at nights, and true to his habits, he was busy reading a journal when Harry came knocking on his door, “Why are you awake?” was the first thing the man asked, upon seeing his son petulantly shuffling by the door.

“Do you ever feel awful for no reason? Because I feel really bad right now and I don’t know why,”

Dad stared at him for a minute. “I do too, sometimes.” He said, slowly.

“I don’t like it. It’s like a burning, in my chest and I cannot make it stop,”

Dad threw his blanket away, and tapped the bed beside him. “Come here,” Harry dragged his feet on the cold wooden floorboards as he went and flopped down next to his dad. He was in an awful mood.

His head fell on Dad’s shoulder and the man hummed. “You cannot help some things,” he said, his hand carding through Harry’s hair. “You cannot help ambivalence, cannot help what others think of you or what you think of yourself,”

Harry swallowed the thick bile in his throat. “Can I tell you a secret?” he didn’t have many. Everything dad either already knew or found out. But Harry did have a few. The majority were small ones, others like this one, more significant.

Dad to his credit didn’t waste a beat. “You can always tell me anything you want,” he said and Harry believed him, but he was still worried about the man’s reaction.

“You have to promise me you won’t bring it up again, ever.” He said. “I’m going to be really embarrassed tomorrow,” in fact, he could already feel a bit of shame pooling in his stomach. He had made his decision though.

“I promise,”

“Sometimes I think about not existing. What would it be like for me, and if I would know the difference,”

Beside him, Dad sat up a bit straighter, his shoulder jostling the boy’s head. “Harry,”

Harry raised a hand. “You promised.” He reminded the man. “I don’t…think about death much. I don’t want to kill myself or anything, don’t freak out, Dad.” He really didn’t know how to explain it. That gaping feeling in his chest that he only felt in certain times. “I just, think about the stillness, you know? Just being in one place, with no worries, and no guilt,”

Dad hummed thoughtfully. “You would be bored of it in an hour,”

Harry scowled up at his father, with a curled mouth, the trademark sign of disapproval in their little family. “But I wouldn’t know what an hour is because there’s no concept of time in the afterlife.”

“There is no afterlife.” The man deadpanned. “I thought we ripped that band-aid off a while ago,”

Harry recalled the talk quite vividly. He chortled in the memory of it. “Along with the Santa talk? Yeah.” Then he sobered once more. “I like to think that there’s something , Dad. Total blackness is fine too.”

Dad’s hand brushed over his unkempt hair. “You also liked gluing glitter to your cheeks.” He said. “Those things got everywhere,”
Harry did love smacking anything and everything with glitter for a while. He didn’t believe it at first before Dad brandished the pictures. ‘You had a glitter phase,’ the man had said with fond exasperation.

Harry gaped at the picture of himself sat on a blue couch he couldn’t remember, both cheeks smeared with purple glitter. ‘The biggest mistake of my life was buying it for you, of course,’

“Yeah,” Harry stretched the word, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Where is our glitter, by the way?”

Dad snorted. “Burning in the depths of hell,”

“With Santa,” Harry teased.

There was a moment of silence before Harry spoke up again.

“Do you think I’m just being an irrational teenager?”

“No. I think you’re just being human.” Dad swiftly threw his journal to the nightstand and drew away, causing Harry to lift his head and look into the man’s eyes. “Death doesn’t matter, you know. Not at all.” He said. Harry was inwardly amazed at the topic of their conversation. This was the first time they were discussing death on itself, and not relevant to the people Harry murdered. Not murdered, Harry thought to himself, furiously pinching his hand. Dad said it wasn’t murder.

“What matters is what we make of life.” Dad said. “The people we affect.”

Harry slumped down with a roll of his eyes, suddenly gripped with a strong sense of self-loathing. “I’ve barely affected anyone in my life,”

“You have more than you think,”

“I’ve only known you, Dad.” Which wasn’t a very impressive list of people, mathematically speaking.

“Not that I’m complaining.” He hastily added afterwards, knowing that the admission must have sounded wrong.

“It doesn’t matter.” The man waved him off. “You have the rest of your life ahead of you.”

“What about you?” Harry asked. Because just like Dad was the only person on the list of people he was associated with, Harry himself, was the only person dad saw or spoke to, so if anything, both of their lists consisted of only one measly person. Each other.

“This is the rest of my life,” Dad said, with a sigh. “Currently.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry said. “I won’t let Santa’s enemy steal you.”

“I’m counting on it,”