James and Harry being diagnosed. Lily is autistic too but sadly misses a diagnosis until two years later. AU where everyone survives and Peter isn't a shit. After the War takes place. In this one James is a shoe nerd lol.
Harry POV
Dad is organizing his massive shoe collection when I come over. I watch him from the doorway, struck by the similarities between the two of us. The little things he's always done, still does, are suddenly making sense now. The hand flaps Mum says I picked up from him, the rare times he's lost his voice, how anxious he gets when his nighttime routine is broken.
I walk over and pet Coffee, Dad's owl. The elderly bird hops over to me, nipping my fingers. He gently hoots, and Dad looks up from cleaning his most recent shoe purchase, a purple Puma. He's comfortably slouched on a plain black leather sofa.
The entire room is surprisingly gloomy, with only gray walls, black carpet, abstract monochrome paintings. Posters of Joy Division decorate the otherwise depressing walls. No one would ever know my father has such gothic tastes, given his bright and positive nature. (Sirius is virtually the opposite; he regularly carries that Robert Smith aura but actually wears hot pink under his leather jackets).
That is, of course, if you somehow ignore the entire east wall full of shoes. The oldest shoes on the left are all dyed black, from 1976 when Dad said his punk phase really began. On and on, they get more colorful. I can't help but notice each time, that 1981 is missing a shoe pair. Dad never talks about that year, and neither does Mum.
His face lights up and he grabs me in a tight hug once I'm close enough. "HARRY! IT'S BEEN SO LONG!"
I laugh, leaning into his arms that are freakishly strong. He retired from being an Auror, so he spends a lot of time at home. He never has done well with being home too often, hence why Ginny, Ron, Hermione and I have been visiting often.
But even then, I can tell he's been spending a bit too much time by himself. He's surrounded by at least eighty pairs of expensive shoes, all different colors and designs. And I know for a fact it's his fourth time organizing them today. Sirius always says that Dad is a bit eccentric, and he retreats too far into his head when he's alone too often.
I pat Dad's back, slightly worried when I hear him mumbling to the pair of shoes in his lap. "I was here yesterday, Dad. And I'll be back tomorrow."
He smiles gratefully. "And I'm ever blessed for it, alhamdulillah. You look Sirius, Harry."
I groan at his pun, even as I laugh. He chuckles at his own joke. I flick my wand, and my leather jacket zooms into the room. "Hey, Dad...why don't we get some fresh air?"
His hands flap, and I grab his shoulder. The tension leaves his body at the affection. Goodness, how long has he been in here with only shoes and Coffee for company? "Dad...how long have you been in here?"
Dad's face darkens, and his hands only move more sporadically. It's a few minutes before he can talk again, rocking a little. Bells are ringing in my head. I think Dad is autistic.
His voice is rough and uneven. "Your mum has been busy, making potions all week, you know. She's spending an awful amount of time in there."
I sigh. "I reckon she needs a break, I'll tell her I'm here. Or we could go together?"
I regret the words the minute I say them. Dad's eyebrows furrow, and he shakes his head, mumbling. "Forty-six to eighty-nine. Not done yet. I have to get them done, Harry."
I nod. "Of course, of course."
When I go up to the Potion Room, I knock before going inside. The space is dark, only lit by lava lamps and Christmas lights. Even the open window is obscured by piles of books and plumes of smoke.
Clearing my throat, I give her raised eyebrows and lean against the doorway. "Mum, you need fresh air."
She gasps and beams when she sees me, rushing over and gently embracing me. "Harry! Oh shite, it's been hours. We ought to get tea. Where's your father, out with Dadfoot and Moomy?"
I smile at Sirius and Remus's nicknames. "Shoes."
She groans. "Oh dear. I told him to get out of the house..."
When we get back to Dad's Shoe Room, punk music is playing loudly. I recognize Pere Ubu as Dad bobs his head, now talking loudly to his shoes.
Mum gives me an anxious look as Dad arranges his shoes on a long shelf, seeming completely unaware of us. "Seventy-two, looking very nice today. I've had you since 1982, looking good for your age..."
She whispers, "Harry, I've got this."
She strolls up to Dad and slides her arms around him. He squeaks and turns around, squeezing Mum tightly in his arms.
Once we've dragged Dad into the sitting room and he's slumped on the couch, unlit cigarette in his mouth, I tell them. "So I got diagnosed with autism."
Mum beams. "Well, Harry, this is an answer."
Dad, as usual, hugs me, letting go to catch the cigarette falling from his mouth. "I'm so glad you got what you needed, Harry."
I take a deep breath. "I think you both need to be tested too."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The door opens, and Dad comes back into the waiting room. His expression is pensive, and the age lines in his face, the gray in his raven hair, are suddenly more pronounced. Dad really looks his age. Mum often says he had the 'cutest baby face' when he was my age.
Dad doesn't open up at all until we're all home, and he's smoked three cigarettes. Mum is giving Dad space, although her worried glances don't go unnoticed. When I walk in to see Dad standing at the counter when I'm craving treacle tart, I see him lining up pamphlets.
Sirius is across from him, a drink in his hand, using it gesture emphatically. The minute Dad sees us, his mouth lifts from a downturned frown to a straight line. "Hey, you two. We should get Remus, I have...lots to talk about."
When all of us are lounging in Dad's Shoe room, he finally explains. I look at the pamphlets, a chill running towards me. Autism, generalized anxiety disorder, major depressive disorder, ADHD.
Dad sighs sadly, his hand ruffling his hair. I swallow, wondering how on earth I never noticed Dad having depression. "Shite, Dad."
Sirius pats his arm. "Jamesy... remember the summer of 1976?"
Dad chuckles a little. "Ah, yes. When I barely got out of bed for days?"
Mum's hand is over her mouth. "James...remember 1981?"
Oh. Am I finally going to find out why they never talk about that year?
Dad breathes in, breathes out, closes his eyes, opens them; his own little ritual. "Harry, it's about time you knew. Lils...I'm going to need your help telling him, it's a lot."
She kisses his cheek. "Always, James. Always."
