Wiping down the doors. (A Harry Potter Fan-fiction)

Wiping down the doors

By: Shadowcherry 

Disclaimer: I own nutting, nutting I tell you! Everything belongs to J.K Rowling. I just own the idea for the one-shot. 

Summary: Next gen. Harry and James bond as Harry tries to explain to his son why the Dursley's didn't love him.

A/N: Special thanks to DramionePerfected (who is now on this site, yeay!) for beatering this and to Habiba Uddin, who this was origionaly written for, for well....everything. 

"James Sirius Potter! What have I told you about running in the house?"

James came to a sudden holt just shy of the living room door at the sound of his mother's shrill voice blasting from the kitchen.

"Sorry mum!" he yelled over his shoulder, smiling to himself as he could practically feel his mum roll her eyes. He mentally counted to ten and then set off again, bolting from the living room and running zigzag from room to room, climbing over furniture, jumping from table to stool safely making it to the next room, only to have his hopes dampened again and again. Perhaps the next room...

He turned about face from the fruitless dining room, hurdling over a bump he'd made in the carpet and flew round the corner, using the door frame as a pivot, and straight into something solid.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! James! Not so fast, you nearly ran me over!"

James giggled and looked up, happy to have found what he was looking for.

"Dad!" he cried, completely unfazed by the unexpected collision. Harry chucked softly and ruffled his son's hair.

"Hello James"

"What ya doing?" James inquired innocently, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels. He stood on his tip-toes, peered round his dad and noticed a bucket of hot, soapy water propped up outside the door to the library. He looked back at his dad, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"I'm wiping the doors down," Harry informed him, with a slight air of bemusement at his son's hyperness.

"Why?" James scrunched up his nose. He couldn't understand why someone would be cleaning, of all things; after all, they could be having fun instead, or more importantly, having fun with him.

Harry just waved his scarred hand vaguely at the door that was adorned with bright red, yellow, blue and even green hand prints before raising his eyebrows at his son slightly.

"Oops?" James offered.

Harry rolled his emerald eyes at his son's innocent facade before kneeling down on a red and gold striped towel, that had been placed under the kaleidoscopic door, and picked up a rag that he chuckled at his son playfully.

"Here you go you, misfit. You're going to help me clean this up."

James looked down at the sickly peach rag in his hands that he instantly recognised as part of those hideous curtains great (or was it great-great-great? He'd lost track) -Aunt Muriel had brought his mum for Christmas, and pouted.

"Can't you just use magic?" he asked moodily, earning himself a stern look from his dad that made him squirm unconsciously.

"There's nothing wrong with doing things the more 'Muggle' way, James, and a bit of hard work never hurt anyone-" Harry carried on hurriedly, anticipating his son's petulant 'yeah, but why risk it?' remark "-and it is your mess. Besides I don't want you becoming too reliant on magic, you may be without it one day."