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SIYE Time:11:10 on 19th March 2024
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Restless Heart Syndrome
By notadryeeye

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts
Characters:All
Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Mild Language, Sexual Situations
Rating: R
Reviews: 429
Summary: 17 Years have passed since the fall of Voldemort. Just as the world thinks it has finally started to heal and move on, some things thought long lost begin to awaken.
Hitcount: Story Total: 102994; Chapter Total: 4996





Author's Notes:
I can only apologize once again for the long lag time between updates. I won't be giving estimated times anymore--as it seems to irk some readers when I don't deliver. So I'll just leave it at that I'm continually writing both this story and the two companion pieces from Harry and Ginny's perspectives directly after the battle. Those--because they are not H/G compliant--will be posted on my livejournal. The 1st chapter of Harry's story is up. Enjoy!




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“He’s a great kid.”

The words startled Harry out of his quiet observation and he slowly looked up to find Arthur Weasley standing beside him--the older man’s eyes falling in the same direction that Harry’s had been moments ago.

Harry didn’t have to ask who he was referring to because Arthur’s gaze had fallen upon the same black-haired young man that had been the focus of Harry’s attention. After coming in from the back deck following their emotional meeting, Jackson had been engulfed in giant welcome hug as his grandmother fussed over him and then plied him with a heaping plate of all his favorite foods.

Harry’d blended into the background somewhat as Jackson settled in--mingling and greeting with his aunts, uncles and cousins. Harry had taken the time to observe his son--watching and trying hard to take in every movement and mannerism. After wolfing down his first plate and making his way through half of a second that his grandmother had pushed in front of him, Jackson had settled in on a spot between two of his cousins and was now laughing quietly at something they’d said.

Now Harry looked on as Arthur Weasley watched his eldest grandson with a smile.

“He’s not exactly a kid, is he?” Harry found himself replying quietly as his eyes roved over the long, lanky form of his son. He was certainly not a child anymore in both age and in physical stature. Jackson had most obviously begun to leave behind the appearances of boyhood and--much like his own self at that age--was at that stage where he was shooting up, filling out and maturing quickly as he became less of a boy and more of a man.

“He may be seventeen,” Arthur replied as he glanced over at Harry. “But I’m quite sure that there are many things he’ll continue to need his family for. He’s not so grown up just yet,” he added.

Harry nodded, but said nothing as his gaze raked over Jackson once more, settling in on the young man whom he so desperately wanted to get to know, but was terrified of nonetheless.

“I’m not supposed to have favorites--as a grandparent, I mean,” Arthur continued on when Harry remained quiet. “But Jackson may very well be mine,” he added with another smile.

“He was mine and Molly’s first grandchild,” he continued proudly. “I remember just being so in awe of how amazing it really was to have a new life in the family in the midst of all the loss--despite what the circumstances may have been,” he added, quietly addressing the fact that Harry had indeed left his daughter to raise their child at the age of 17. But there was none of the expected anger in the older man’s voice that Harry would have thought there to be in light of the situation.

“I have to admit that I probably did plenty of spoiling him when he was a little one,” he said with a slight laugh. “He’s always been such a bright, happy and curious boy--and that hasn’t changed as he’s gotten older. He’s always got time to talk with his old grandad--”

“He’s amazing,” Harry said automatically as his eyes fell again once more on Jackson, who was listening intently to something that one of Ron and Hermione’s twins were telling him.

“He really is an incredibly engaging and intelligent young man,” Arthur agreed. “Not to mention--he’s hilarious. He’s got a knack for making people laugh that may just give Fred and George a run for their money.”

With every word that Mr. Weasley spoke about his grandson, Harry felt a mixture of pride and sadness rise up within himself. Pride in the brilliant things he was hearing about Jackson as a person, and sadness for the fact that he hadn’t yet gotten the chance to witness any of this for himself. He’d missed out on so much and in many ways, his son was a virtual stranger. He only knew what he’d learned in the past hour or so about his son’s life.

“I’m just not sure what’s supposed to happen now,” Harry replied quietly as his eyes settled back on Jackson. “It’s not exactly a matter of reconnecting--trying to pick up where we last left off. I’ve missed everything...”

“I think you’ll find that--” Arthur began quietly as his grandson looked up momentarily--his eyes finding the pair of them watching him. Perhaps sensing that he was the subject at hand, Jackson gave them both a small smile before turning back to his cousins. “It may not be as difficult building a relationship with Jackson as it may be in rebuilding those with some of the others...” he added, trailing off as his gaze drifted away from his grandson and over towards another corner of the sitting room.

Harry followed Mr. Weasley’s line of sight to where Ginny stood chatting with Hermione and her mother.

Harry could only nod.

He hadn’t even really allowed himself to entertain that realm of this situation. Of course, he’d had thoughts about their possible reunion before it had actually happened; running scenarios through his mind--scenarios that ran the gamut from her running into his arms and kissing him soundly much like she had in the Gryffindor Common Room all those years ago--to one that included lots of cursing and several blows raining down on him.

He hadn’t expected indifference and silence.

Ginny had said that they would talk about ‘you and I’...someday. That could be tomorrow, or it could be ages from now. And if it turned out to be never, Harry couldn’t blame her.

But whatever fear or worry he had about figuring out what was left of their relationship, had been overcome and pushed aside by the revelation that he had a son. As much as a part of his heart wanted to entertain the paths and outcomes that might be possible in regards to Ginny, he desperately wanted to get to know Jackson.

“Losing you was hard for all of us. But not having you is probably the one part of my grandson’s life where I’ve really ever seen a true sadness in him,” Arthur admitted quietly. “Even with having a stepfather for a time and with all his uncles there to fill some of the role--I know he’s always yearned for and dreamt about having his dad with him.”

“And...now that he has you--” Arthur said, turning his attention directly to Harry--his blue eyes boring into Harry’s green, pinning him to the spot. “I have a feeling he’ll do what he can to make the most of things.”

“I hope so...” Harry said quietly, wondering if it would be alright to voice his own fears to the man who he once thought of as a father figure earlier in his own life. Did he still have that right to do so after all he’d put this man’s family through?

“All of this is shocking and overwhelming and...amazing--too many emotions to comprehend really,” Harry continued. “And I’m terrified of screwing everything up again...disappointing.”

“Jackson knows a lot about you...we’ve always made sure to tell him about what kind of person you are...” Arthur assured him. But those assurances only succeeded in adding a little bit more fear in Harry’s mind.

“I’m not so sure I’m that person anymore,” Harry replied quietly.

“The man I see today is certainly a little different than the one I may have envisioned,” Arthur responded slowly. “Although before this, whatever I’d imagined had been purely conjectural and simply curious wondering.”

“But nonetheless, I’m very proud of the man I see,” Arthur said with a smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes.

Harry gave Arthur Weasley a skeptical look, knowing that there were many things that had happened to him and that he had done in the past 18 years that he was definitely not proud of. And he also knew that much of the Weasley family was aware of his past, so to hear Arthur’s words was something that he was finding hard to come to terms with.

“We’re all faced with difficult decisions and choices that shape who we are and perhaps change who we thought we’d be,” Arthur added, responding to the look Harry had given him. “And in your circumstance and situation--even more so. But despite the past--from what I’ve seen and heard--you have an amazing talent that you’ve channeled into an extremely successful career, you have a beautiful home here and you are an incredible father to that little girl of yours--that much I’ve seen myself.”

Harry felt himself go slightly red as he listened to Arthur Weasley speak words that he wasn’t sure he deserved.


“That, you can be proud of, Harry,” Arthur said. “And I know as much as Jackson will want you in his life from now on--you’ll try your hardest to be there for him. It may take a bit of time at first...but I think you’ll find quite easily that a little bit of effort will go a long way...”

“What do we talk about?” Harry mused--the question that had been bouncing about his head being spoken aloud for the first time. He had a past with many of the people here--a past that included conversations and shared interests and events. But with Jackson, he had only what he’d learned from others and what he’d observed in the past hour or so...

“You’ll have a lot more in common to talk about than you may think,” Arthur assured him. “Not only does Jackson look extraordinarily like you...but he’s quite the Quidditch player. Dare I say, nearly as good as another dark-haired young man I remember,” he added with a bit of a smirk.

“I’m not exactly up-to-date on my league standings,” Harry replied with a small smile of his own. “And...It’s not as though I’ll be able to fly with him...” he added, his smile fading as the realization hitting him.

He could build a relationship, get to know and be there for his son. But because of the absence of his magic--there were some things they inevitably couldn’t share...

Arthur must have sensed the sadness in Harry, because he offered a sympathetic look in return.

“I think whatever the topic--you need just start the conversation,” Arthur suggested warmly as he patted Harry gently on the shoulder--letting it linger for a moment before moving back into the kitchen.

---------------------------- -----------------------
He’d been told he was free to go wherever--to wander around and check whatever part of the house out that he’d wanted or needed to. So he’d decided to take a break from the various conversations going on about the lower levels and explore a bit upstairs.

It still felt a bit like intruding, Jackson thought as he slowly walked down a hallway perusing various pictures hung in frames along the wall. He felt a bit nosy as he poked around in this house--his dad’s house.

Those words were still slightly foreign to him.

They were good. They were amazing, actually--but everything was going to take a bit of getting used to and it may be a while until reality actually sunk in. He finally had the one impossible that he’d never dreamed of having and now he wasn’t quite sure how things were supposed to play out from here.

After meeting his dad and getting a grip on his emotions, Jackson had been swept up by the rest of his family. His grandmother had seen fit to stuff him to the gills with food--shoving several plates of his favorites under his nose even as he struggled to finish the first one. And after he’d had his fill and could fit no more food in, he’d managed to be corralled by his cousins and pestered with a barrage of questions about what meeting his dad was like.

It had taken forever for Jackson to extricate himself from their grasp. And while he’d tried to make a neat exit and escape the questions from his family--most of his attention had been elsewhere as he’d kept an eye trained on his dad as he seemed to float about the edges of the room.

Since their separation on the deck, his dad had kept his distance. Jackson couldn’t blame him for taking a bit of time to process everything and come to terms with all that had been thrust upon him in the span of a few minutes. And on his part--Jackson was glad to have some time to gage the situation as well.

Halfway through the conversations with his cousins, he’d caught his granddad deep in conversation with his dad near the entry archway to the living room. Jackson had been very interested in what they might be talking about and had chanced a longer than usual glance at the two as he tried to discern anything out of their facial expressions and mannerisms.

Simultaneously the pair had looked up, his grandfather’s eyes finding his first, and then his father had followed. Unsure of what to do in response to being caught staring, he gave them both a small, nervous smile before he quickly looked away.

But that had been the extent of the interaction they’d had since then.

His dad had disappeared sometime after that and part of the reason that Jackson had left the hub of conversation with the rest of his family was to see if maybe he could find him.

But his attention had been caught by everything around him. He took the time to look at every frame and photograph that hung on the wall and to peek into every room he passed. The photos were awesome. He wondered just how many of them his dad had taken...

Perhaps they could talk about that?

Jackson certainly wasn’t an artist himself by any stretch of the imagination, but it would really be neat to learn about what he does for a career. A photographer wasn’t something he’d ever associated with any thoughts he’d had on his father before all this. He’d never heard anything about his dad being remotely artistic--but then again--he’d been a bit preoccupied with the war to really focus on anything extracurricular that might have developed those talents, Jackson supposed.

Yet, he was really talented...even Jackson could see that. And even though he really didn’t know his father on a personal level just yet, he was actually really very proud of what he had accomplished in his profession.

Those thoughts lingered as Jackson slowly ambled past the last few frames on the wall before he came to a stop in front of the open door to a bedroom. Unlike the other rooms, which were filled with suitcases and temporary beds to house the extra people spending the next few days, this one was filled with toys and dolls along with the extra bed.

This one was also not dark and empty as the others had been.

“Hey, Scarlett,” Jackson greeted as he stepped into the room. The little girl, who had been quietly brushing out the dark hair on the doll she grasped, looked up and smiled widely as her bright blue eyes found him.

“Jackson!” she squeaked as she jumped up from the carpet and ran at him. Bending down, Jackson caught her in mid-leap and engulfed her in a big hug as she clung to him.

“How are you doing, Scar?” Jackson asked as his youngest cousin pulled away, smiling up at him.

“Good,” the little girl replied. “Daddy said you weren’t coming here,” Scarlett added after a few seconds.

“I know. But I decided that I couldn’t go Christmas without seeing my favorite little cousin,” Jackson teased. “I had to come see my Scarlett.”

“I missed you,” Scarlett squeaked, hugging him tight once more before wriggling out of his grasp and scurrying back to where she had left her doll.

“What are you up to?” Jackson asked as stepped closer and knelt down beside her.

“Just playing with the dolls,” Scarlett said matter-of-factly as she picked up the dark-haired doll and resumed with brushing out its hair.

“By yourself?” he asked, slightly out of concern that she’d been left out or somehow bullied out of playing with some of the older children. As much as he loved all of his cousins, they could sometimes gang up on one another or exclude someone from the group when playing games and other things.

“No, with Sophie,” Scarlett replied as she set the doll down and picked up another one. “She just went to get some juice,” she explained without looking up at Jackson.

“Right,” Jackson replied quietly, as he surveyed his youngest cousin.

He knew who Sophie was.

His Uncle Ron, his Aunt Hermione--even his mum had attempted to broach the subject and try and talk about the fact that his dad had a daughter.

Quite honestly, he hadn’t had much reaction to it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact. He wasn’t angry or jealous or whatever other feelings others expected he might have--he just, didn’t particularly know how to react. So, as a result, no one had tried to force a conversation about her with him.

And with everything else he’d had occupying his time and mind in the short span of time he’d been here, he hadn’t had much time to think about it.

But just as that thought finished crossing his mind, the sound of quick footsteps alerted him to the presence of someone else entering the room.

And before he could turn around or react, he was blindsided by a small, wriggly body. Arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

“Daddy!”

Jackson could only sputter as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“That’s not your daddy,” Scarlett giggled. “That’s Jackson, silly.”

Jackson felt the arms around his neck release and whoever had been hugging him pulled away.

“Oh,” was the response that came from the tiny, black-haired girl standing next to him. She was surveying him with deliberate thoughtfulness as the two stared at each other.

The likeness, the shared features were quite evident.

Her dark--nearly jet black--hair was pulled back away from her face with small clips, giving him a clear view.

Sophie had the same thin features that he had and that he recognized in pictures from when he was young. There were differences of course--caused by the difference in gender and by the fact that they had different mothers. But the similarities were there.

The most striking were her eyes.

She had the same bright green eyes he did...and at the moment they were carefully studying him.

“I thought you were him,” Sophie sighed as she shook her head slightly. “You look like my daddy.”

“I do,” Jackson replied breathlessly, not knowing if it was a question or a confirmation.

Sophie continued to survey him and size him up for a few seconds--almost as if trying to decide or discern something about him.

Then with a tiny shrug and shake of her head, Sophie turned her attention away from Jackson and plopped down on the floor next to Scarlett. The two little girls resumed their playing with the dolls, seemingly ignoring the fact that Jackson was still there, kneeling in front of them.

He watched as the two chattered excitedly--having an animated conversation about how pretty this doll’s hair was and what dress the other could change into for the Christmas party. He listened as they immersed themselves in a make-believe moment, where the dolls were as real as they were and might very well start joining in on the conversation themselves.

He was amazed at how fast the two had seemingly become friends. They’d met only earlier today, and yet they were having no problems falling into friendship.

As he stayed put and observed the two, he couldn’t help but wonder a bit about what his relationship would be with Sophie...

She was his little sister, after all...

Well...half-sister--but they shared blood and a bond nonetheless.

He wondered if she even knew who he actually was. At only 5 years old, Jackson wasn’t sure that she’d even be able to understand anything about what had been going on the past few weeks. How did you explain something like this anyway?

“Soph, is this your half-full juice glass you left by the stairs?”

Jackson looked up as the sound of his father’s voice from behind him. He turned to find him standing in the doorway, holding a glass in his hands.

“I wasn’t done with it and I’m not s’posed to eat or drink in my room,” Sophie said with a shrug. “You says so, Daddy...”

“Yes, but it’s not very smart to leave it at the bottom of the steps, either,” he replied, looking to be fighting a smile. He cast a sideways glance at Jackson, giving him a slight wink, acknowledging his presence. “You don’t want someone to knock it over do you?”

“No,” Sophie replied quietly with a small shake of her head. “I don’t want to make a mess.”

“Next time, let’s put it on the counter in the kitchen if you’re not going to drink it all at once,” his dad replied, still sounding slightly amused. “Alright?” he asked, addressing Sophie.

“Ok,” Sophie replied dismissively as she focused her attention back on her doll as she brushed out the long hair.

“Did you two rope Jackson into playing dolls with you?” his father added in a teasing tone as he addressed the two girls.

Jackson couldn’t help but smile a little.

“No,” Sophie replied for both herself and Scarlett. “He was just here when I came up…talking to Scarlett…”

“I was looking around,” Jackson interjected in explanation as he stood up slowly from his crouched position. “I hope that’s okay…” he added in hesitation.

“Of course it is,” his dad replied in reassurance. “You’re welcome to any part of the house.”

Jackson nodded, showing his thanks.

“Speaking of…” his dad began again. “Did anyone show you where you were going to be sleeping?”

Jackson shook his head. Upon his arrival, his rucksack had been taken from him and placed who knows where. And he’d been so busy and preoccupied with all that had happened since then, that it had never occurred to him that there’d come a time for sleep and rest eventually.

“Nobody was using my downstairs office, so I’ve moved some things out and around and had a few cots moved in,” his dad began to explain. “I thought you and your brother and your–your mom–could bunk in there. If that’s alright…”

Jackson could sense a bit of uneasiness in his father–as if he was worried that Jackson might reject the arrangements. He seemed incredibly nervous and somehow it somewhat relieved Jackson that he wasn’t the only one who was uncertain of how to act or carry on in the most unusual of situations as this was.

“That’d work just fine,” Jackson assured him. “And I’m sure Mum and Alex will be fine with it too,” he added.

“Good,” his dad said with a nod of his head, looking quite relieved.

The two stayed standing where they were for a few moments–neither one saying anything, but each surveying the other with a quiet nervousness. What were they supposed to do now? Where they supposed embrace again? Or was a lengthy conversation on the docket now?

And what would they say? What would possibly be the topic they would turn to that would start the process of bringing together and bridging the gap that 17 years had brought?

“You’d said you’d been looking around,” his dad finally began. “Would you like me to show you around?” he added as his eyes momentarily drifted towards the two little girls who were still playing on the floor nearby.

“Or…maybe…we could find somewhere to talk?” he added, swallowing heavily as he turned his eyes back to Jackson’s. “Away from the madness downstairs…” he offered, again sounding quite nervous.

The question of what they’d possibly start out talking about again flitted through Jackson’s mind.

How would this conversation start? What course would it take?

This was his dad.

This was the one person he’d always wanted the opportunity to talk to. Before now, it had been an impossibility and any conversation was one that had been imagined inside his head, or carried out, one-sided, in the darkness in moments of insecurity or loneliness.

But here he was now. He was standing right in front of Jackson, looking every bit as nervous and unsure as Jackson felt.

And Jackson was terrified.

But the need and the want to talk and to know more about the man in front of him seemed to override any of that fear.

And slowly, Jackson nodded.

----------------------------- -----------------------------------

A few minutes later Jackson found himself seated at the edge of one of the cots in the downstairs office that had been setup as a bedroom for his family. This had been one of the only places that they’d found where they might be able to talk without disruption, interruption or eavesdroppers watching them.

Jackson had felt the curious eyes following him as he had let his father lead him into the room. He had avoided most of the gazes, but his mum’s had been the one he had actually sought as he had walked past his family. But he had not seen her as he’d walked through the kitchen and had not spotted her among those in the living room either.

Although he’d wondered what she would think, he didn’t have the time to seek her out to find out.

So now he found himself alone with his dad; the older man was currently unnecessarily rearranging and moving around some of the spare bits of furniture in order to clear more space or perhaps find somewhere for himself to sit.

After another minute or so, he finally settled into a nearby office chair–fidgeting and not looking all that comfortable in the situation.

It was a mirror of how Jackson felt.

Jackson found himself wringing his hands together as he tried to find anything to say or bring up any topic that they could possibly connect on. Sitting here in an awkward silence was not something that he wanted to struggle through. That wasn’t how he had envisioned this meeting…

“Talk about a total blow your mind moment…”

The words were out of Jackson’s mouth before he even had any time to feed them through the filter in his brain. He had obviously been thinking that sentiment the entire night–being in the presence of his supposedly, long-dead father was something that he equated to being beyond normal comprehension of the human mind. But it had been his overwhelming sense of nervousness that had forced the thought out of his head and heavily into the empty air between them.

At the sound of Jackson’s words, his father had looked up, gazing curiously at him for a moment. And then surprisingly, he let out a little laugh and a slight smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

“Mind definitely blown,” his dad admitted with a nod of his head, looking very relieved that Jackson had broken the silence. “I’m not sure there’s anything in the world that could have prepared me for–well–this,” he added with a slight gesture to the space between himself and Jackson.

Jackson could only think to nod in agreement; words were still fleeting for him.

-------------------------------- ---------------------------------------- ----------------

This wasn’t working out how he thought this would go. He had for some reason been transformed into a fumbling, nervous-wreck and he was having the hardest time getting his brain to work with the rest of his body so that he could put together coherent sentences or even form the basis of intelligible words that might fill the silence.

This was his son–his own flesh and blood sitting on the camp bed across from him. And yet any recognizable form of conversation or communication was proving beyond Harry’s grasp at the moment. The fact was that Jackson was an invariable stranger to him and he was having a hard time reading the teen’s reactions to him. Jackson didn’t seem to loathe him or show the outright indifference that his mother had. But he also wasn’t rushing to welcome him back into the fold with open arms as had.

Jackson was–by his own right–keeping his distance.

Aside from the open display of emotion he had exhibited upon their initial meeting on the deck–where everyone involved had been overcome by the power of the moment–Jackson now seemed to be measuring Harry and taking his time in gauging what his own reactions should be.

Although they both were most definitely showing outward signs of nervousness…which had inevitably led them to the awkward silence now canvassing the room.

Harry had nearly been ready to voice the obvious nature of their predicament in lieu of anything better to say…

That is…until Jackson beat him to it.

Harry was still getting used to hearing that voice. Somehow there was so much of him in the tone and inflection--which, should be impossibly really. Shouldn’t it?

Children–well, people really–learned most of what language entailed from their environment and surroundings. Parents, family and friends–they all played a role in shaping that part of someone. He’d seen it in practice with Sophie as she had quickly morphed from a babbling toddler to a funny and chatty little girl. He’d even experienced it with himself–the proof being in the differences of his own dialect and accent post-battle after he’d relearned how to speak again in a different place.

But that shouldn’t be the case here, should it? After all, he and Jackson had never met before tonight. And while in a perfect world he should have had a hand in shaping the mannerisms of his son, he hadn’t been there to.

And yet, Ginny had been right–there was so much of himself in Jackson…

All of it was mind-blowing.

“Mind definitely blown,” Harry said automatically with a nod of his head, feeling slightly relieved that some sort of bridge had been built to span the silence.

Now that Jackson had spoken, Harry suddenly felt as though he needed to say something to continue the conversation. An opening lifeline had been thrown in his general direction and now it was his turn to grab hold…

“I’m not sure there’s anything in the world that could have prepared me for–well–this,” he added with a slight gesture to the space between himself and Jackson.

He watched as Jackson nodded in agreement, still maintaining a relative level of silence on his part.

“I–I never imagined that this is what I left behind,” Harry admitted aloud, feeling something inside urging him to explain himself–or even apologize to his son. “I had been trying to prepare for whatever emotions or feelings the rest of the family might have towards me because of it…”

Harry paused, taking in a deep breath.

“But forgive me if I’m a little bit lost when it comes to…you,” Harry said hesitantly. “I’m still struggling with the idea that I left–”

“I’d rather not talk about all that right now,” Jackson cut across Harry’s words quietly. There was no anger in his voice, but a firmness of what his wishes were. Despite that, Harry couldn’t help but show his surprise.

“The reasoning and the whys of what you decided and what happened then isn’t something I want to discuss right now,” Jackson clarified. “What I’ve heard from others and what I’ve come to understand about what went on and your choices–I get it. I do. Unlike my–well–I’m not angry, really. Sad maybe…”

“I’m sure it’ll come up in conversation later on and we’ll hash out whatever we need to–but right now,” Jackson continued on, pausing to take a deep breath, “I just want to talk–get to know you and figure out other things first.”

Harry took a few moments to let Jackson’s words sink in. He was incredibly taken with the maturity and sincerity the young man had just showed him. Not only that, he was relieved that Jackson didn’t hate him. Considering that–although however unintentionally and unknowingly–he’d had never been there for Jackson, Harry considered the lack of anger his son harbored towards him a miracle.

“I think that’s a good place to start,” Harry agreed. “And I’d really like the chance to do that.”

“I’m not sure what’s going to happen with anybody else,” Harry continued speaking–his mind straying to one person in particular who especially embodied the root cause of his confusion and uncertainty. “And I haven’t even begun to figure out how involved they’ll want me to be from now on…”

Harry paused, both to give himself a chance to breathe and to take a second to gauge Jackson’s reaction to his words.

“But what I do know is that I’d like to be part of your life if I can,” Harry continued on nervously, swallowing his fear of being rejected.

“I know I can’t make up for the time I wasn’t there for you,” Harry added. “But I’d like to be–there–from now on…in whatever capacity or level that you’ll allow me to or want me to be…”

Jackson seemed to have momentarily stopped breathing–stopped moving at all really. He was looking down at his feet, apparently deep in thought. It wasn’t until Harry saw Jackson’s Adam ’s apple bob up and down slightly as he swallowed that he was sure that the young man was still with him.

Harry thought that perhaps he’d gone too far and pushed too fast to interject himself into his son’s life.

“I want that,” Jackson said simply, looking up–his green eyes searching for Harry’s. “I want for you to be in my life.”

Harry reflexively sighed in relief, feeling some of the tension that had built up in his shoulders relax and leave him.

“I’m not sure how exactly this is going to go–but I’d very much like that,” Jackson added with a nod and a small smile, looking just as relieved and pleased as Harry felt.

------------------------------- --------------------------

The rest of the evening seemed to flow by a lot easier once Jackson had let his dad know that he wanted to try to form some sort of relationship. He knew nothing would ever replace the years that they both had lost by his dad not being there, but Jackson was most certain that he wanted to take full advantage of what they could have now.

And once the awkwardness was tackled and some of their collective nervousness drained away, they actually spent quite a bit of time making small conversation–talking about Jackson’s schooling, some of his likes and hobbies, as well as his impending entry into the Auror training program once school was over. Jackson was more than happy to answer his dad’s questions and even more interested in asking his own.

He really did find it so fascinating to learn a bit more about the nearly 18 years his dad had spent separated from his friends and family. Jackson, of course asked more about his father’s career–finding out that he’d traveled all over the world for his job. Jackson had never really been outside of the UK besides his recent travels to the States, but his dad it seemed had been to so many different countries as he followed the bands and artists that he photographed around the globe on international tours and shows.

There was so much more that he’d wanted to ask or talk about, but time seemed to get away from them quick and before they knew it, it was nearing midnight. The lateness of the time, combined with the several hours’ difference in time that he was dealing with was soon making it difficult for Jackson to stay awake.

After he’d yawned for about the 20th time in the span of a few minutes, his dad suggested with a smile that maybe Jackson get some sleep. He assured him that they’d set aside some time tomorrow to talk some more and they’d figure it all out in the morning. Reluctantly, Jackson agreed and he gave his dad one last hug before bidding him goodnight. He quickly changed out of his clothes and into a worn t-shirt and sweatpants, crawling into his camp bed and pulling the covers over himself.

He’d very nearly dozed off properly when he heard the door open, creaking softly on its hinges. He looked up to find a very sleepy looking Alex in the doorway. Jackson had nearly forgotten that he was supposed to be sharing the office with both his little brother and his mum.

Jackson watched through half-lidded eyes as his brother fished around the room in the dark for his bag. Wanting to help, Jackson reached for his wand stuffed under his pillow. With one swift movement he waved it in the air, bringing the lights in the room to a level that would allow Alex to see what he was doing.

“I thought you were asleep,” Alex blurted out once he’d gotten his bearings.

“Just nodding off,” Jackson replied with a shake of his head. “Is everyone else in bed?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” Alex responded as he began to change into his pajamas. “I fell asleep on the sofa for a while,” he admitted.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jackson admonished, feeling bad that he’d kept his brother from getting proper rest.

Alex waved him off as he pulled on an old t-shirt for bed.

“That’s alright,” Alex said. “You needed to have the time alone with him. I wasn’t going to bother you,” Alex added.

Jackson nodded his appreciation.

“So…” Alex said after a moment. “How was it?” he asked hesitantly, although the curiosity in his voice was unmistakable.

Jackson thought for a moment, not sure that there actually was a word to describe the meeting and the past few hours, really.

“Amazing,” Jackson breathed out, finally settling on the one word that might begin to relay his feelings. “There was a lot to talk about…and we didn’t even begin to cover it all…but we surprisingly didn’t have that tough of a time finding something to talk on once we got started.”

Jackson watched as a slight smile stretched across his brother’s face–clearly relaying that the younger boy was amused by his brother’s admission.

“It’s still not set in,” Jackson admitted. “That this is real…that he’s really here.”

“Or that he’s bloody Harry Potter,” Alex added with a small laugh.

“That actually didn’t cross my mind or come up in conversation,” Jackson replied. “I guess I’ll leave the hero worship to you,” Jackson added teasingly. He had to remember that to Alex there was still very much that intrigue of Jackson’s dad being the famous Harry Potter. Whereas Jackson had always been told about what kind of person his dad had been–the friendly, yet-slightly awkward young man that his friends had really known.

“I think it’s really cool that you get to spend time with him now,” Alex said quietly as he began to climb into his own camp bed. “That he’s not actually…dead and all…”

“Yeah…” was all the response that Jackson could muster in agreement. He let a few seconds of silence lapse between them and once Alex had settled under the covers, he again waved his wands at the lights–extinguishing them once more.

“Is mum--?” Jackson began to ask aloud in the darkness as his curiosity about his mother’s whereabouts once more returned.

“She’s still up,” Alex offered in reply as he rolled over. “She was talking with Aunt Hermione, Grandmum and Tonks in the kitchen. She said she’d be turning in in a little while.”

Jackson could only, knowing that Alex couldn’t see his response in the dark. But his little brother must not have found Jackson’s lack of response odd because he remained quiet.

Jackson closed his eyes, but remained awake–listening in the darkness to the sound of the quieting house that had been so full of life just hours before. A short while later his brother’s soft snores joined the subtle sounds, signaling to Jackson that Alex had succumbed to his own exhaustion.

Despite the lingering thoughts bouncing around his head and the excitement of the day and the prospect of what was to come–Jackson was still bone-tired. He soon found himself–like his brother–drifting off as sleep took him.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d actually been asleep, but a slight jostling of the camp bed he slept upon brought him toward consciousness. He was just a sliver away from being able to rouse himself to the point of complete awareness, so his eyes remained closed even as he felt a soft hand brush at the fringe on his forehead.

The person sitting on the edge of his bed remained quiet and still, but there was no doubt in Jackson sleepy mind who it was. He had caught a whiff of his mum’s flowery perfume. He’d been able to recognize it since he was a little boy–subtle, yet surely hers.

After another slight shift of the cot Jackson felt his mum place a kiss on the side of his head.

“I love you, sweetheart,” she whispered before she leaned back and stood up.

She moved deftly across the room and Jackson heard the slight squeak as she sat on the edge of Alex’s cot. He listened as his mum murmured similar sentiments of love to her youngest son. Alex grunted a quiet, unintelligible response before falling silent again.

Without much more noise his mother settled into her own bed. Jackson vaguely wondered if she was lying there awake, but before he could contemplate it much more, his own tiredness dragged him back down to unconsciousness.
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