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TO SAY HARRY IS NOSTALGIC WOULD DEFINITELY BE AN Understatement.
He was filled with it.
The sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past. That was what Harry felt all the time. Nostalgia filled his heart. It was heavy, frustrating him at times when he realized he could just go back in time, and run away from the life he was living. He has done that one too many times.
Children.
Children bring about his nostalgia.
It's like a slap to the face. Every time he would look outside the large stained glass, observing the land he is on, a child would come into view. Their laughs, their mischievous ways, and their eyes filled with innocence and ignorance. Ignorant to the selfish world, and ignorant to the pain.
Ignorance, in some cases, is a privilege, Harry noted.
Sometimes you're better off if you don't know.
Don't know about greed. Or lust, or evil.
Sometimes, you should just be a child.
Children have one thing that many lack or find a hard time recognizing,
Love.
It doesn't matter how someone looks, or how ugly someone's past is. Children have hearts that hold more love than one hundred gold buckets could do.
Children radiate more love than the sun.
Children are the sun.
But sometimes the sun causes cancer.
Burns. Wounds. Flesh exposure.
And that's exactly what Harry is left with. An open wound full of the exact desire he wished he never was exposed to. A wound that was full of want. Harry wanted children.
It's a funny thing, really.
Because Harry could easily sleep with any omega he wanted, consent or no consent. But it just wasn't the same. It wasn't real. It wasn't love.
Love.
Something that Harry can't remember.
He's quite good at that. Forgetting.
Having a child of his own, made from love, consent, and trust would be something else. Something different. Something extraordinary. Something.... Something real.
But he was disgusting. Repulsive. Hideous. Inside, and out.
If his face didn't scare them away, his past would.
