Misadventure

56

Harry's POV

"Come on, lad. When's the last time you've seen the sunshine?"

Well, I'd been home for three days. I kept my curtains drawn closed for the most part. I had a strong desire to hide from the world.

"I fixed you a mug of tea, milk and sugar." Dad stood awkwardly in the doorway. He looked unsure whether or not to come closer.

"Thanks," I said flatly.

"It's downstairs. You'll have to get out of bed to drink it," he said.

I rolled over, so I was back to him. Then I hid my face my pillow. "I knew this was a trap." My voice came out all muffled.

I heard heavy footsteps approaching me. Then I felt him run his fingers through my curls, messing them up worse than they already were. "You know wanna know something?"

"What?" I groaned.

"I hear if you go too long without washing your hair, you'll get bugs in it."

"Good," I deadpanned. "I'll feed them to Santa."

"Speaking of feeding Santa-"

"Yes. I have been." I cut him off. "I'm depressed, but I'm not a monster."

"Right. I see." Dad hummed in understanding. "You'll make sure a gecko gets its daily nutrients, but won't do the same for yourself?"

My eyes rolled. It was probably for the best that my face was hidden.

"Santa is innocent in all of this. He's just a victim of circumstance," I argued.

"Touché, son."

"I'm not a victim of circumstance, okay? I messed up everything, and now everything's... so..." I trailed off.

"...messed up?" he filled in the blank.

"Yeah. That."

The mattress sunk as he plunked himself down on my tiny bed. He sat on the edge next to where I was laying. "You want to know something?"

"No."

"Harry..."

"Sorry." I sighed. "That was rude." Then I finally relented, removing my face from the pillow. As I slowly sat up, he wrapped an arm around me. I instantly relaxed, leaning against his side. His hugs were so comforting.

It was sad, in a way.

I couldn't help but think of all the scenarios growing up, when I could've used a hug from him. It wouldn't have magically fixed everything. But it might've alleviated some of the pain and loneliness.

"There's a story I want to tell you, H."

"Okay." I nodded. "I have my listening ears on."

He chuckled at that. "Did your mother ever tell you how we met each other?"

"No. She didn't." I was suddenly very curious. It was strange, trying to imagine what my parents were like when they were both young. I hadn't given the topic much thought.

"Do you remember that old diner on Fifth Street?"

"Was that the place that had the all-you-can-eat breadsticks?" I asked.

The memory triggered a warm, bubbly sensation in my stomach. It was short lived, though. And the second the feeling passed, I was left feeling even emptier than before.

He smiled, shaking his head slightly. "Wow."

I tilted my head. "What?"

"I'm amazed you remember that," he replied. "The last time we went there, you were young enough to need crayons and a booster seat."