ECHOES - gingertart.doc

http://www.hpfandom.net/eff/viewstory.php?sid=24837

Summary: Everyone has been given perfume for Christmas, odd things happen as a result and Harry finds himself juggling match-making children, senile household appliances and two very fraught relationships. Written for the Snarry_Holidays exchange fest.

Echoes

by gingertart

Hunching against the rain that dripped from the gutter of number 12, Grimmauld Place, Harry flung open the front door. The fire alarm went off.

�Fire! Help, fire, smoke, devastation, burning and despair! Flee for your lives! Save the valuables! Fetch water �� The cracked voice degenerated into a fit of coughing.

Harry stopped below the alarm carved above the doorway to the living room. Its wooden face was screwed up as it hacked and spluttered. Eventually it drew in a gasping breath, opened eyes that oozed sap-like tears, peered at him and croaked �Fire?�

Harry shook his head.

�Just a teeny little one?�

He shook his head again.

The alarm snuffled. �A house elf might have burned the toast?�

�No.�

�Oh.� It blinked stickily. �False alarm, then.�

�Yes, I think it was a false alarm.�

�Sorry.� The alarm shut its eyes.

Harry glanced at the wall where the portrait of Mrs Black had once hung. Her place had been taken by a rather washy watercolour painting of Hogwarts castle. The perspective was skewed so that the turrets appeared about to fall forwards out of the frame. Tiny banners fluttered in the breeze and owls winged their way back and forth between the school and the Owlery.

As Harry watched, the sun sank behind the castle and a spot of yellow light came on in a window at the top of Gryffindor Tower. He smiled and swung his cloak from his shoulders. The hallstand shuffled forward to take the garment, waggling a hook in a hopeful manner.

�It�s damp,� Harry said, �raining cats and dogs out there.� The stand immediately extended its umbrella holder. �Sorry, no brolly today."

The stand moved back against the wall with a creak and an air of offended pride. Harry waved at the candles in their sconces and little yellow flames appeared, casting shadows across the heavy furniture. His footsteps and the squeak of old floorboards echoed loudly through the house. Small things shifted and danced in the uncertain candlelight: portraits rousing in their frames; furniture taking a step or two towards him like elderly pets hoping for a pat or a word; the ghosts of ancient house elves running cobweb dusters over long vanished ornaments.

Ginny had refused to live here. For Harry, 12 Grimmauld Place was a reminder of Sirius, of the war and of a darker side to magic. He also suspected that the house disliked Ginny just as much as she disliked it. He was glad, now, that he had not sold the place.

He opened the kitchen door and glanced around, looking for Kreacher. Someone sat at the table, nursing a mug of tea.

For a frozen moment, Harry stared at the hanging sweep of dark hair, the square masculine shoulders under their black robe and the curve of a cheek. The wizard raised his head, and the illusion was broken.

�Hi, Harry,� Teddy said, raising his mug. �I just made tea, want some?� He cocked his head, frowning slightly, and his hair changed colour from black to its usual brown. �Anything wrong?�

�You just reminded me of someone.�

�My dad?� Teddy waved at the teapot, which waddled across the table, curtsied and tilted, pouring tea into another mug. The milk jug scuttled in its wake like a crab.

�No, your hair was black when I came in and you looked like another wizard I once knew. He used to sit there to drink his tea.� Harry shook his head. �Odd, I haven�t even thought about him for years.�

Teddy nodded and sipped. Harry caught the sugar tongs before they added yet another cube of sugar to his tea and replaced them carefully in the bowl.

�Who was he?�

Harry had a feeling that Teddy did not really want to know, that he was speaking to fill the silence.

�Severus Snape.�

�The guy Albus Severus was named after?�

Harry nodded. �The Potions master, yes.�

�Funny,� Teddy said, �Neville was talking about him the other day, about what a right bastard he was.� He cocked an eyebrow at Harry. �Why on earth did you name your son after a bastard?�

�He was a very brave bastard,� Harry said, smiling at a memory. �He deserves to remembered for more than being a sarcastic sod of a teacher and dying from snake bite.�

�Snake bite?� Teddy beckoned to the biscuit barrel and it hopped across the table and doffed its lid. �A Potions master succumbed to snake bite? How weird. Ah-hah! Kreacher must have been baking again, looks like we�ve got ginger nuts.�

Harry accepted one of the crisp, spiced biscuits.

�I thought you were going to Hogsmeade for the weekend,� he said, keeping his voice mildly interested rather than accusatory.

�Victoire didn�t want me to go.� Teddy bit the words off sharply and dropped his uneaten biscuit onto the table.

�Ah,� Harry said, in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.

�I hope she�s not seeing some seventh year student or something, I hope she�s just busy studying for her NEWTs.�

�I�m sorry,� Harry said after a long pause.

Teddy shrugged elaborately. �Doesn�t matter, does it? Not the end of the world. Not everyone gets to marry their childhood sweetheart, do they?�

Harry saw the colour washing across Teddy�s face as he replayed his own words in his head and realised what he had just said. The younger wizard looked completely mortified. �Oh god, Harry, I�m so sorry ��

�It�s okay,� Harry said quickly, �Honestly, it is. I wish people would just stop tip-toeing round me like I was going to collapse if anyone mentions Ginny�s name.�

Teddy looked down, fiddling with the buttons on the front of his robe. �Just don�t know what to say, really. It was � you were so happy!� Out of Teddy�s face, Remus Lupin�s gold-flecked hazel eyes pleaded with Harry to agree. �We all thought you were so happy.�

�We were,� Harry admitted. �But we were very young when we got together and we just grew apart, I guess.�

�She didn�t have to do that to you.� Teddy�s voice was a low growl. �She could have � oh I don�t know, been gracious about it. She didn�t have to run off with some bloody Quidditch player!�

�I was a Quidditch player once, you know!� Harry grinned, although he did not really feel much like grinning. �She must have felt stifled. She was the youngest Weasley, always someone's daughter or little sister, then she was Harry Potter�s wife and then James, Albus and Lily�s mother. She never found out what she wanted to be for herself.�

�Some Quidditch twit�s trophy,� Teddy muttered. �Sorry, but she treated you like dirt.�

�I want you to be polite to her, please.�

Teddy grunted something vaguely uncomplimentary. �I suppose so.�

�I don�t want James, Al and Lily to feel they have to choose between us.�

Teddy nodded. Behind him, what had been a faint hissing noise suddenly rose to a crescendo of shrieking as the lid blew off the kettle, extinguishing the nearest lamp and filling the kitchen with billows of steam. Harry swore and tugged out his wand.

�Finite incantatem! That�s the second time this week. Bloody thing.�

�Harry,� Teddy said thoughtfully, �Do you think household appliances can go mad?�

The kettle shuffled around in a circle as if turning its back on them and plonked itself down on the range, hiccupping into silence.

- - -

Harry could identify all the perfect moments in his life. Hearing Hagrid telling him that he was a wizard was the first, then came choosing his wand, seeing Hogwarts Castle for the first time, catching the Snitch for Gryffindor, Christmas at the Burrow, knowing for sure that Voldemort was finally, irrevocably gone, watching his two best friends getting married and holding his newborn children. They were caught in the Pensieve of his memory like butterflies in amber, to be treasured when things turned bad. Some were perfect only because they were viewed through the filter of a child�s perceptions. Hogwarts, for example, held bad memories as well as good, but that first time was unclouded and pure, unsullied by Death Eaters or bullies, Voldemort or Umbridge.

He understood too late that Ginny had featured in none of those moments and he wasn't sure if this failing was hers or his own. He had loved the idea of marriage more than he had loved Ginny; he had longed for a wife and family more than he had wanted the woman herself. Now she was gone and he did not know how he felt or what to think.

The newspapers informed him that he was grief-stricken. His friends treated him as if Ginny had died tragically, leaving him bereaved.

He felt adrift and unsettled, unused to hours and days during which no other person made a single demand upon his time. He could read all evening uninterrupted, or spend his weekend watching Quidditch. He could go out with Ron, Neville, Seamus or George and come home drunk. He could adopt a stray Kneazle or buy a Crup, fill the attic with snowy owls in memory of Hedwig, take up riding flying horses and polish his broom on the dining table.

The only brake upon his increasingly outrageous daydreams was awareness of the effects upon his children and godchildren of any scandal. For their sakes, he would refrain from visiting dodgy bars or ogling the arses of the Quidditch players in their tight uniforms; for them, he would be the Harry Potter of legend, the Boy Who Lived Twice, squeaky clean and heroic.

- - -

"I told you I needed more lapis lazuli!" Lily's voice was clear and distinctive, Teddy's response a low baritone rumble. "That bloke in the apothecary's said I'd need at least two ounces and he was right. He was right about the black cohosh as well, wasn't he? You know, the one who said I'd got my grandmother's features."

"Lily?"

She popped her head around the door to the library.

"Hi, Dad." She frowned. "Did you know the bureau is sucking your robe?"

Harry turned and stared. The heavy mahogany bureau opened its drawer a fraction, spat out the edge of the robe draped over the back of his chair and shuffled back into its accustomed place, a slightly sheepish tilt to its roll top.

"Did someone tell you that you've got your grandmother Lily's face?"

"Yeah. Funny, everyone else says I take after you except for my eyes, but this guy stared at me then told me I'd got her nose and mouth and hair and he sounded cross about it. He was weird."

"Who was he?"

"Some old guy in Slug and Jiggers. When Teddy took us to buy ingredients."

"Did you tell him who you were?"

She shook her head.

"He just seemed to know. Dad, the downstairs toilet has eaten all the loo roll again. Teddy says he put a roll in the holder yesterday and it's gone. And there were potato peelings in the wash-basin."

"Have a word with Kreacher, he's good with household appliances. You do know better than to talk to strangers alone, don't you?"

"It was in a crowded shop." Lily smiled at him fondly, looking far older than her eleven years. "I know. Hey, Al and James reckon we can fix you up with the new assistant Quidditch coach at Hogwarts, but don't tell them I said so!" She smiled sweetly and disappeared again. Harry shook his head.

- - -

�There�s this new perfume out for Christmas,� Lily�s voice held the lilt of the child who believes that she is dropping a casual hint. �Named after me.�

�Like someone�s going to name a perfume after an eleven-year-old,� James muttered. �Al, hold it still!�

�Do you really think we should do this?�

�Of course we should! Just keep the damn thing still.�

Albus Severus dug in his heels and tightened his grip on the dressing table. James sighted along his wand, scowled and exclaimed �Alohamora!�

The drawers shot across the room, slamming into the wall and showering them all with rolled-up socks, toilet rolls, bars of soap, a bath sponge and a dented soup tureen.

�Kreacher!� Lily called, �we�ve found your soup dish! James� dressing table ate it.�

�There�s Dad�s underpants.� James picked up a pair of boxers bearing the Gryffindor crest.

�And mine!� Al pounced on the briefs with the Slytherin snake motif. �Jim, your furniture has an underwear fetish. Can�t you keep the thing in your room? It must spend the nights wandering round the house eating stuff.�

�Don�t you think I haven�t tried?� James shoved the now emptied drawers back into their slots. �I�ve locked the door, I�ve chained it to the bedpost, what more d�you want; I should sleep on top of it?�

�Let�s just chop it into firewood,� Lily said, scowling at the innocuous-seeming dressing table. �Or give it to someone we don�t like. D�you think Scorpius Malfoy would take it?�

�Hear that?� Al tapped the furniture with his wand. �One more transgression and you�re kindling.�

James sat on the bed and pulled a roll of parchment from his robe pocket.

�Anyone had any bright idea what to get Dad?� He spread the list out on the counterpane. �I got Uncle Ron�s Quidditch calendar and Aunt Hermione�s Businesswitch diary.�

�I found the book Rose wanted,� Lily said, �And we could probably get something in Uncle George�s shop for Hugo.�

�Great.� James groped for a quill and scribbled against two names on the list. �But what about Dad?�

�I saw an advert in Slug and Jiggers for a new aftershave,� Lily remarked, far too innocently. �Next to the perfumes.� Her brothers rolled their eyes and she stuck out her tongue.

�Very ladylike,� Al commented.

�It was expensive, but it�s called �Seeker� and it comes in a bottle with a tiny snitch for a stopper. It was next to ��

�The perfumes, yes, we heard you the first time.�

The bedroom door opened and Harry stuck his head in, looking irritated.

�Do you really think I don�t know when someone uses magic in this house? Who was it this time?�

�The dressing table ate my socks, your boxers, the soup tureen and all the soap!�

�I don�t care. You ask me, Kreacher or Teddy to sort it, okay? Next thing, you�ll be dragged in front of the Wizengamot for the use of underage magic.�

�They�re not bothered about a little charm like �Alohamora�!�

�Really?� Harry frowned. �How odd. I distinctly remember being threatened with expulsion from Hogwarts by the Wizengamot for a levitation spell but maybe I was mistaken. Maybe it was some other Harry Potter. Don�t do it, okay?� He shut the door with rather more force than necessary.

�Told you.� Al folded his arms, smirking at his brother. He was not entirely surprised to be pelted with rolled up socks and underpants.

- - -

Lily was the sort of child who took her time unwrapping her presents, savouring the moment of anticipation as she carefully unwound the ribbons, peeled off the paper and opened the boxes. She beamed with delight as she opened a package from Slug and Jiggers and took out a bar of soap, a bottle of bath foam and a little vial of perfume. The bottles were facetted glass, the contents tinted pale green and the labels read �Lily� in a flowing script.

�Oh terrific! Thanks, that�s just what I wanted!�

�There�s a surprise,� Al muttered although he grinned at her.

Lily carefully prised the stopper from the perfume and inhaled. She looked slightly puzzled for a moment and then smiled.

�It�s great!� She dashed around the room, waving the bottle under the nose of anyone prepared to stay still long enough.

Harry sniffed warily.

Rather than the heavy, floral scent he had expected, the perfume was delicate; maybe based on lily of the valley. It stirred a memory; a vision of a young woman sitting on a fence as the sun turned her wayward auburn hair into a glorious blaze. She threw back her head and laughed, her green eyes dancing with amusement. Then she was gone, and Harry felt a chill. The memory was not his own, yet he knew her. She smiled at him out of wizarding photographs on a shelf in his bedroom. Somewhere, he still owned a sealed flask of memories that featured her. She was Lily Evans, his mother.

�Dad?� Lily touched his arm. �...