home
For a minute, as he watches his oldest son waving frantically at him from the train, he is seized with something like nostalgia but not quite. It's a different kind of pain, but not a bad one.
The platform is crowded, as usual this time of year. Ten-year-old Albus is complaining somewhere near his left elbow, asking why he can't just get on the train and go to Hogwarts with his older brother. Lily backs up his argument fiercely, and Harry bites back his laughter as Ginny informs Albus that if he's going to make a scene he might as well forget about Hogwarts next year. The boy closes his mouth like a trap, and Harry supresses a smile. He ruffles the boy's hair, so like his own, affectionately, his green eyes scanning the train windows.
As the train starts to move, Harry sees the face he is looking for. It is thin, framed by messy black hair, with good-natured hazel eyes hidden behind round lenses; however, it is lit up by a brilliant, excited, nervous smile. Harry smiles back, knowing that he looks like a goofy father letting go of his son - but that's what he is, so he doesn't care.
He watches as James works to free his hand to wave to his parents, and as he finally extricates the offending body part from the car, his mother laughs and waves, his little sister and brother joining her. James's eyes, however, are fixed on his father, waiting for something -
And Harry smiles softly, and he raises his hand in farewell, and he knows - even though he is too far away now to see it - that James's eyes (his mother's eyes) have lit up like little stars, and now that freed hand is pumping up and down fervently, and Harry's smile grows wider and wider and wider.
And then -
And then...
For a minute, as he watches his oldest son waving frantically at him from the train, he is seized with something like nostalgia but not quite. It's a different kind of pain, but not a bad one.
He stands on the platform, waving to his rapidly disappearing son, and he wonders if James has any idea how much Harry wanted to be him right now.
