September 1st, 2019.
Previous to ‘Remember a Day’

The Kingstons arrive right on time like they always do.

Virgil Kingston, the father, is wearing an old black trenchcoat of his, and he blows the smoke of his cigarette upwards. As they make their way in the crow of muggles, the man looks constantly in his pockets, checking the time in his watch. From what his son knows, he’s an important meeting to attend to in the Ministry of Magic. Even though most of what his what talks about is related to his job in some way, the son, Roman, has no idea what today’s meeting is all about.

The eleven-year-old dark-haired boy, Roman, walks right next to his father, pushing the cart with his trunk in it, with little to no enthusiasm about this whole thing. He’s wearing a well-knitted yellow sweater he received from his granny, from his mother’s side, last year.

Platform 9 ¾ is full of wizards, as expected. Roman watches as a skinny man hugs his son, while who he can only assume is the mother, cries with a happy smile on her face. He rolls his eyes and stops once he realizes what Virgil Kingston is doing.

His father is talking to his purple quick-quote Quill, with a frown on his face. Virgil looks even older now, Roman points out, feeling a bit mean towards his father today. They haven’t exchanged a word to each other since breakfast, and, even though the boy’s already used to his father’s quiet nature, he was expecting a little bit more love since they won’t be seeing each other until December.

Virgil sighs and waves the quill off, not turning his grey eyes to his son. He glances towards his clock once again, tapping his feet on the floor. They have a similar look on their faces, stone-cold and confident. The man runs his hand over his clothes, habit that he instilled in his child, and says, “Take care, son.”

“I won’t,” Roman quickly answers, crossing his arms.

“… And pay attention to your classes,” The man adds, not even paying attention to his son’s reply, per usual.

“Who cares about good grades anyway?” The boy rolls his eyes, voice a little salty. He doesn’t even try to hide how annoyed he is with his father’s lack of interest and hopes that the man notices how it makes him feel when he watches other wizarding families being cuddly and lovable, while they act like to co-workers.

“Try to write to me at least once a month,”

“Why would I ever feel the need to write to ya?”

“You know…” Virgil sighs, face darker, looking a few years older now. Those grey eyes land on the boy’s face, as there’s a tint of frustration painted in there. Roman stops himself from smiling, “I can hear you.”

“Just makin' sure,” Roman sneers at him, with a loud huff, running his hand through his dark hair, messing it up a little. His eyes watch as most students say goodbye and board the Hogwarts Express. “I have to go now. See ya in December, I guess.”

“Take care,” the man repeats, sounding muffled, but with a furrowed eyebrow, what he does whenever he’s worried. Roman huffs and runs his hand over his sweater.

“I don’t need ya to tell me that,” And with that, he hugs his father and turns around towards the locomotive.