𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨-𝙧.𝙖.𝙗

47-disorder

JAMES POTTER HAS FOUND A WAY TO ANNOY HIS SISTER EVEN IN DEATH, and that is through his son.

Harry screams all throughout the night. It is a rough, raw and echoing scream that bounces throughout the entire house. It seems that Jo can sense it before he starts up again. She'll wake up, eyes slowly opening, and then Harry's screams will ring in her ear. It happens at least five times a night.

It's just a little past four in the morning when Jo stumbles down the upstairs hallway of her home, exhaustion weighing her limbs down like lead. Harry's just in the room next to her and Regulus, but the walk there always feels long and arduous.

The screams grow louder when Jo opens the door, and her heart sinks to see how red in the face he is, how tightly his eyes are squeezed shut as his mouth hangs open, wailing, hands reaching up for red hair that isn't there. Jo sighs as she approaches his crib, gingerly reaching down and lifting Harry, pulling him closer to her chest. ""S alright, little one," she whispers into his ear, and almost at once, he's quiet. Her hand cups the back of his soft head, and she lightly bounces him on her hip. His breathing evens out. "Your Auntie Josie's got you."

Sometimes, Jo really feels this awful resentment towards Harry. She knows that's not fair to him, and really, it's less about resenting him, and more about hating the fact that he's not James. Her brother is dead. Killed and buried in the ground, and now, Jo cradles his son, an exact copy of him, with his thick tufts of ever-growing black hair, and it's like holding a knife to her own chest. Sometimes she can't stand to be around him. Sometimes looking at him makes Jo feel like her chest has collapsed inward, crushing her lungs, leaving a gaping hole right in her middle. Still, she holds onto Harry tightly, and tells him that it'll be okay. She still loves him, wants him safe, wants him growing up happy with loud laughter, like his father did.

The door opens and closes behind her, gently and carefully. Jo hears the footsteps but still flinches slightly at the hand on her shoulder. Regulus lifts it at once. "Let me take him," he whispers to her, "you need to sleep."

Jo doesn't protest, and Harry only fusses a little as Regulus lifts him away from Jo's arms and takes him into his own. But still, she stands there, watching as he holds Harry like it's natural to him. Regulus is good with him. He's always been good with him. He's certainly better at caring for him than Jo is, despite her best efforts. She chews down on her bottom lip. "Josephine, I've got him," Regulus tells her, nodding towards their own bedroom. "You need some rest before Dumbledore gets here tomorrow."

She groans lightly. Dumbledore. She had been trying to forget about that. "Fuck," she murmurs, mostly to herself. There wasn't much of a question as to where Harry would go after he was found sitting upright in his crib, crying with a soiled diaper, watching his parent's dead bodies lie there, rigid. Rubeus Hagrid had shown up at the Potter home with little Harry all bundled up shortly after Regulus had cleaned Crouch's blood off her chin. But now the dust has settled just a bit, everyone seems to think it's a good time to talk about what's best for Harry, in the long run.

The idea makes Jo irate. Harry's her flesh and blood. She was there when he was born. She pulled Harry out of his mother, and she cut the cord and she heard his first cries and there is a reason he was brought to her first. She's what's best for him. They are what is best for him. Jo shakes her head. She doesn't even want to discuss it. "Do you think he's gonna take him away?" she asks Regulus, arms crossed over her head and lips pursed, deep in thought.

Harry seems calm enough. Regulus is careful as he places him back in his crib, not moving too quickly, not disturbing his sudden slumber. He turns to Jo. "They're not taking him," Regulus tells her softly, though she can still hear a fierce conviction laced in his words. "I don't care what it takes. He's staying with us."