He never knew when to expect it. Weeks ormonths would go by, and then suddenly that owl from out of nowhere, zooming past and barely slowing to drop the note into his hand?always when he was alone. Once, an entire year had passed between meetings.
There was never a personal message. None was required. He knew the handwriting, and he knew what it meant. There would be a date and a time, and a Portkey. That was all he really needed.
Today, the Portkey brought him to the dim doorway of a pub on a muddy street that smelled of ale and fog. He had no idea where he was. The signs were in English, and it felt like somewhere in Britain, which was a little unusual. The Portkeys tended to bring him to remote locations where there was little chance of his being recognized by someone he knew.
He heard Scottish accents all around him. He hunched a little, wishing that for once he?d foregone his traditional hair habits?multicolored spikes didn?t make for inconspicuousness. For the hundredth time he wondered idly if he weren?t getting too old for his outlandish appearance, but each time he considered a more age-appropriate look, everyone around him berated him into going back to ?himself,? as they said.
Napoleon ducked into the bar, glancing around for any familiar faces that might hail him and spoil the delicate security that surrounded these meetings. He didn?t want to lose this one chance he had for contact. He was always terrified that each time he saw him, it would be the last time. He could not ask for a meeting himself, he didn?t know how to contact him. He?d tried a few times, but on each occasion his owl had returned, exhausted, still clutching his undelivered note.
He shouldn?t have been surprised. Harry had spent his life as an intelligence operative. If he didn?t want to be found, then Napoleon wasn?t going to find him.
He finally spotted him in a rear corner, a mug of something hot on the table before him. Napoleon crossed the bar and joined him without a word. They had become used to this, these clandestine meetings in dingy and unremarkable pubs. It was the only exposure Harry would tolerate, so Napoleon didn?t try to influence his choice of meeting points.
?Little close to home, aren?t we?? Napoleon said.
Harry raised his head and met his eyes. Napoleon suppressed his recoil, as he had to every single time. Each time he saw him, it seemed that Harry looked older. It could have been the surprise of it, the disparity between the picture he still carried of his old friend in his mind and the reality of the man Harry had become, or it could have been that every time he saw him, Harry did look older. ?I was in the area,? Harry said.
?Your call.?
Harry sighed, his eyes roaming over the bar?s patrons. It looked like he was just staring into space, but Napoleon knew better. He was assessing risks, checking exits, and watching the movements of the other wizards. His skill was evident in the way his face was blank and distracted, as if he weren?t paying attention at all, when in fact he was paying very keen attention to everything. ?You look well.?
?Thank. Wish I could say the same.?
Harry snorted. ?Your honesty is refreshing as always, Jones.?
?I do my best.?
Napoleon watched the muscles in Harry?s jaw clenching and unclenching. ?So, how are things??
?Well, work is good. The new headquarters is just about ready. We?re all gearing up for the big move. I?m breaking in a new second.?
Harry nodded. He didn?t care, and Napoleon knew it. Every time it was the same. They did this little dance, a confabulation to pretend that there wasn?t one reason and one reason only for their meetings. He didn?t know why Harry felt the need to keep up the fa?ade that he had maintained contact with only Napoleon just to be friendly. Who were they kidding, anyway? He was tired of it. ?We?re thinking of buying a new house,? he said, breaking their traditional pattern of circling around the issue until it would no longer be avoided. Harry glanced at him sharply.
?Yeah??
Napoleon nodded. ?Bigger. We want more?? He cleared his throat, realizing that he?d just opened up the topic he?d been hoping to avoid. ?More room,? he finished lamely. Had he been hoping to avoid it? Maybe subconsciously he?d wanted to bring it up.
Harry frowned. ?More room? Just for the three of?? He stopped, his gaze suddenly piercing and compelling, as it always had been. ?Oh. It won?t be just the three of you much longer, will it??
Napoleon sighed. ?We?re expecting a baby. In June.?
Harry stared at his mug, nodding. ?Congratulations.? That was a fair impersonation of how a corpse might talk, Napoleon thought.
?Thanks.?
?You must be very pleased.?
?We are.? He looked down at his folded hands. ?Harry, I didn?t mean to?I mean, I just??
?Forget it,? he said. ?Why shouldn?t you talk about it? That?s what normal people do, people with lives.? His voice dropped. ?She should have some happiness,? he murmured. He met Napoleon?s eyes again and, as always, the pain in them made Napoleon?s heart ache with guilt and regret. ?How is she??
?She?s fine. She just became head of her division.?
Harry nodded. ?I heard.?
?She?s excited about the baby. I think it might help her to?let go.? He immediately regretted his words. That was edging very close to The Forbidden Topic. Harry didn?t take the bait. Napoleon changed the subject. ?Helen?s learning Quidditch.?
That brought a smile to Harry?s face. ?Really? Is she any good??
Napoleon nodded, remembering his stepdaughter?s face when he and Hermione had presented her with her very first training broom. ?She?s got the knack. Just like you.?
Harry?s smile faded. He sat back and put a hand over his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. ?At least she still has something of mine.? He dropped the hand and let his head fall back against the booth. ?Does she remember me? At all?? he asked, keeping his eyes shut.
Napoleon hesitated. ?Yeah, she does. It?s kind of vague.? He wondered if he ought to go on, then decided there was very little left to lose. ?Last week Hermione was away overnight, and she had a bad dream. She screamed herself awake, so naturally I ran in to calm her down. She was saying ?Daddy, daddy? and I was just shushing her?then she said ?where?s my other Daddy??? Harry turned his head and looked at him. ?I asked her what she meant. She said ?I want my Daddy with the black hair.?? Relating this story, Napoleon felt again everything he?d felt at that moment, hearing the little girl he loved so much ask for Harry?jealous, hurt, sad, and most of all angry at the world for separating this child from the father for whom he was only a substitute.
Harry made an odd, choked noise that might have been the start of a word, a cry or perhaps a sob, but it was over as soon as it had begun and he was calm again. ?Daddy with the black hair,? he repeated, quietly.
?She asked me where you were. I didn?t know what to say. She asked if you were ever coming back. I said maybe someday.? He crossed his arms on the table. ?Did I lie??
?That isn?t up to me. It?s for the best.?
?Is it??
?Seems to be working out for you.?
The words went through Napoleon like a spear. He reached out and clamped a hand on Harry?s forearm, bright anger bursting before his eyes. ?What did you just say to me??
Harry wasn?t fazed. ?You heard me.?
?You think I would have wanted it this way? You think this is how I envisioned my life? That I?d be raising another man?s child? You think it?s easy to be married to a woman for whom most of her life is a taboo topic of discussion? I have to be so goddamned careful you have no fucking idea, Harry. For her, the years before?well, before?didn?t happen. They don?t exist. It?s the only way she can go forward.? He let go of Harry?s arm, his anger bleeding away and leaving only exhaustion in its wake. ?I?m so tired,? he said. ?Picking up the pieces of your life is bloody draining. You think it?s fun knowing I?m the runner-up? Winning by forfeit does nothing for me. You know how long I loved her. You think I would have chosen this scenario to finally have her??
Harry slowly swung his head around and met his eyes. ?You didn?t say no, though, did you??
?Of course not. Sometimes I wish I had. But she needed me, and I just wanted her to feel safe and loved again. Helen needed a father, and someone had to support Hermione while she reassembled herself.? He shook his head. ?It shattered her, do you know that? And I don?t just mean?what happened. Leaving you was leaving everything she?d been since she was eleven. She?s had to practically reconstruct her identity and make a new one that didn?t include you.?
Harry nodded, considering. ?It?s interesting, in a way. The last five years she?s been reconstructing her identity, and I?ve had to destroy mine.?
?You didn?t have to go so far underground, you know.?
?The further, the better. The longer I stay out, the more people will forget me. The more they forget, the safer they?ll be. It won?t happen again. She left me to protect Helen, and to protect Helen I let her leave even though she took everything that made me alive with her.?
Here they were again. Close to The Forbidden Topic. Napoleon felt its presence hovering in the silence, and suddenly decided it was time to break the seal. ?We went to his grave on his birthday,? Napoleon whispered.
Harry didn?t move. He kept his head turned out towards the bar, but Napoleon knew he was listening.
?It was the first time since the funeral that she?d gone. She had to lock it away in that box where she keeps you in her mind, but this year?she asked to go. Maybe it?s because she?s going to be a mother of two again, I don?t know. So we went.? He hesitated. ?It?s peaceful and green. There were so many flowers there, Harry. People still leave them there for him, even after five years. They visit him because it?s the only way they can still touch you. You?re gone, but they can remember you by remembering your son.? He saw the shine of wetness on Harry?s cheek, but he still hadn?t moved a muscle. He kept talking, wanting Harry to see how it was, wanting him to experience that moment with her, even if from this distance. ?I stayed back with Helen. She went to the grave alone. I watched her kneel there, and I think she talked to him. She laid down on the grass for a little while. Then she just got up and came back, and asked me to take her home.?
Silence fell between them. Napoleon just sat there and waited for Harry to speak. He had nothing else to offer. They?d never really talked this intensely before. Usually it was quite perfunctory. He knew that more than anything else, Harry just wanted some kind of contact with Hermione, and he could only have it through him.
At length, Harry turned back towards him. ?They say that for a parent to lose a child is the worst thing that can happen to anyone. I suppose they?re right. But imagine losing a child because someone wants to hurt you.? His eyes were flat and expressionless, but Napoleon was not fooled. He?d seen a similar expression in his wife?s eyes too often when she thought she couldn?t be seen. ?Ben was innocent. He was our son. Because of who I am, he is dead. It?s what I feared my whole life. It?s what I tried to warn her of, from the very start of our relationship. Once it happened, I looked in her eyes and knew I?d lost her, and I was glad. I was glad that they?d be safe, away from me. And when I heard that she was going to marry you, I was glad, because I knew you would look after them. And I knew that no one would ever harm them because of you.? He stood up and put on his cloak. Napoleon suddenly didn?t want him to leave.
?I hate this,? he said. ?I hate being the only one who sees you. I can?t tell Ron, I can?t tell Laura, I can?t tell anyone. At home we all have to pretend you never existed.?
Harry gave him a rueful smile. ?Maybe if we all pretend hard enough, it?ll be true.? He extended his hand and Napoleon shook it, feeling the sting of tears. ?Go home, Jones. Take care of my daughter. Teach her Quidditch and be merciless to her boyfriends.? Napoleon frowned. This was starting to feel like a more permanent goodbye. ?Go home and love my wife in my stead. And take care of that new baby.? He turned and left.
After a moment, Napoleon jumped up, grabbed his cloak and followed him out into the street. ?Wait,? he said, catching up and seizing Harry?s arm. ?I?m going to see you again soon,? he said, deliberately making it not a question.
Harry didn?t turn. ?I?ve found her, Napoleon,? he whispered. ?It?s taken me five years, but I?ve found her. I?m going to go now and administer some justice for Ben.? He glanced at Napoleon?s face. ?I fully expect to have to trade my own life for this revenge. It?s more than fair. It isn?t as if my life is worth anything else anymore.? He looked at him then, and Napoleon could see in his eyes some traces of the man he?d known before, the one who?d been able to show his face to the world. ?When you think the time is right, tell Hermione that I finished it. And tell her?? He hesitated. ?Tell her the truth.?
He jerked his arm out of Napoleon?s grasp and headed off down the sidewalk. A passerby moved through Napoleon?s line of vision, and Harry was gone.
Napoleon stood in the street for some time. The magnitude of Harry?s sacrifices stunned him, as always. To protect the lives of his loved ones, he had disappeared off the face of the earth. He had allowed his wife to leave him, even while his whole being had screamed at him to fight for her, because he knew she was doing what she had to in order to keep her daughter from suffering her brother?s fate. Now he was possibly about to give up his own life for some meager measure of revenge which would change nothing.
And what was his own role in this? Was he the victor, who?d rescued the damsel and child in their hour of need? Was he a usurper, trying in vain to fill the void left by a man he couldn?t hope to ever measure up to? Or was he just some guy who?d gotten in way over his head?
He could not judge himself fairly. The only standard he had for comparison had just walked away from him. Had he been walking towards victory, or surrender?
Finally, he turned and walked in the opposite direction. In the end, it didn?t matter. It wasn?t like anyone would know. No one was judging him except himself. Tonight he would sleep beside the woman he?d loved since he was twenty-four years old, and take from that what happiness he could for himself and for her.
In the end, perhaps as it was always meant to be, Harry would bear the final outcome of his lifelong war alone. Perhaps he had been alone all along, even at his happiest times when he?d been surrounded by friends and family, by wife and children.
Perhaps it was true after all ? a hero is always alone.