I'm not supposed to go near him, not yet; Dumbledore doesn't think he's ready to know the truth. Usually I don't disagree with him, but I have to admit I think he's wrong on this count. Like it or not, I am part of Harry's past, because I am part of his father. Just as his father is part of me.
I went to see him once. Not to speak with him; just to look at him. It was the summer before he found out about our world. I thought, I'd waited ten years, surely the Headmaster wouldn't mind if I had a glance at the boy. There was a bench across the street from Number Four, Privet Drive, and I sat and read the paper. I sat for hours, not impatient, just anticipating.
The door finally opened just as dusk was setting in, painting a brilliant picture in the sky. Instantly I knew it was him. He was tiny, and I couldn't believe he was already ten years old. Smaller than James had been, and yet he looked exactly like him. That was what got me, worst of all. It was James. For a moment it was like experiencing his death all over again.
I shut the newspaper and the rustling caught the boy's attention as he started down the street. We locked eyes, and I saw then it wasn't James, not entirely, because there were Lily's beautiful green eyes, glittering in the late sunlight. He gave a lopsided grin and a small wave, and I had just managed to wave back before he turned again and went on his way.
So there it was. He'd been but a baby the last time I'd seen him; I remembered buying him a toy broom for his first birthday. James had loved it; Lily had been angry. I chuckled at the thought but it caused me more pain, somehow, than remembering their deaths had.
There was nothing else for it. I got up from my bench and started in the opposite direction that Harry'd gone, folding my newspaper and tucking it in my Muggle jacket. I had thought I might cry, but no tears came. It was too deep for that. I turned back for one last look and found him standing on the corner, studying me. When he our eyes locked again he quickly averted his, embarrassed to be staring at strangers. He knows, I thought. He's confused, but he knows. I hoped I'd be seeing him again soon.
I went to see him once. Not to speak with him; just to look at him. It was the summer before he found out about our world. I thought, I'd waited ten years, surely the Headmaster wouldn't mind if I had a glance at the boy. There was a bench across the street from Number Four, Privet Drive, and I sat and read the paper. I sat for hours, not impatient, just anticipating.
The door finally opened just as dusk was setting in, painting a brilliant picture in the sky. Instantly I knew it was him. He was tiny, and I couldn't believe he was already ten years old. Smaller than James had been, and yet he looked exactly like him. That was what got me, worst of all. It was James. For a moment it was like experiencing his death all over again.
I shut the newspaper and the rustling caught the boy's attention as he started down the street. We locked eyes, and I saw then it wasn't James, not entirely, because there were Lily's beautiful green eyes, glittering in the late sunlight. He gave a lopsided grin and a small wave, and I had just managed to wave back before he turned again and went on his way.
So there it was. He'd been but a baby the last time I'd seen him; I remembered buying him a toy broom for his first birthday. James had loved it; Lily had been angry. I chuckled at the thought but it caused me more pain, somehow, than remembering their deaths had.
There was nothing else for it. I got up from my bench and started in the opposite direction that Harry'd gone, folding my newspaper and tucking it in my Muggle jacket. I had thought I might cry, but no tears came. It was too deep for that. I turned back for one last look and found him standing on the corner, studying me. When he our eyes locked again he quickly averted his, embarrassed to be staring at strangers. He knows, I thought. He's confused, but he knows. I hoped I'd be seeing him again soon.