Disclaimer: I own nothing...too bad...::sigh::

A/N: I went back and decided that the first few chapters were just too short so I decided to revise them.

The light in the bathroom flickered for a moment before flashing to life and the sound of the toilet flushing resonated through the silent house (though it was more along the lines of a mansion than a house.). Pushing himself up off of the floor, the seventeen year old boy braced himself against the sink and took a good look in the mirror. He was pale, too pale, with his mother's piercing green eyes and his father's ebony hair. After rinsing his mouth and splashing cold water on his face, the ebony haired boy put out the bathroom light and stumbled back into his bedroom and onto his bed.

On the other side of the room, the boy's father stood in the open doorway, just as he had done every night for the past week and a half. He just hoped that whatever illness his son had, would be gone before school started in two weeks. Walking quietly into the room, he lowered the flame of the gas lamp on the bedside table and walked back out.

Down the hall from the boy's room was the second floor study. This was his private study which no one knew about, save for a certain redhead and his ancestors who built the house. The only way to tell the door apart from the rest of the richly stained panelled walls, was a knot in the wood. He pushed it in until he heard a click then pushed open the door.

He had been trying to find the cause for his son's inability to hold down food for several days now and he still couldn't find it. He knew there was something the boy wasn't telling him and every time he tried to ask, he would never get a straight answer.

A cheerful young woman waved from a photo on his desk. She was sitting on a swing in a garden with a flower in her hair. In ink, at the bottom of the picture was the year : i1979 i.

All around the room were pictures. Looking around, he noticed that there were only four pictures of his son. On the bookcase in a brass frame was a picture of how things should have been all along. The photograph was dated 1980 and was taken just weeks after his son, Harry, was born. Harry, swaddled in a light blue blanket held by his mother and his birthfather. Hanging on the wall was a picture taken the month before. Underneath the picture he had written: i Harry's seventeenth birthday.i He was surrounded by his friends and every one in a while, a striking blond boy would give him a kiss.

There was one photograph on a shelf that had been turned face down. He could never bring himself to look at it anymore. He didn't know why he had it out in the first place. It reminded him how he had failed to save the two most important people to him. It was the last picture they had taken together as a family before his son was placed in the care of his aunt and uncle and his wife was killed.

i "We'll never be a normal family."

"I know."

"It's for the best. I'm not keeping you from seeing him, Sev."

"He'll never see me as his father, though."

"When everything is over, we can be together again. But for now....it's just not safe for either of us. We'll be together soon. You'll see."

"I love you, Lily."

"I know."i

Her words just kept repeating over and over and over again inside his head.

"The war is over. It's safe now, Lily."

He wiped away the tears and opened a book, trying to find what was wrong with Harry.