FicWad

Shoulders slumped, Harry trudged back to his apartment, the image of his mother’s disapproving gaze seared into his mind. It was as if her disappointment had become a physical presence, weighing down his shoulders with the gravity of his mistake.

Entering his home, a heavy sense of regret settled over him, refusing to lift. “I can’t believe I made such a foolish mistake,” he murmured, berating his own judgement. He kicked off his shoes and sank onto the well-worn couch, the fabric comforting yet taunting at the same time. He could almost hear the whispers of his friends—Ron and Hermione—reminding him that every choice had its consequences.

Harry shut his eyes, desperate to escape the overwhelming feeling of defeat. Try as he might, the weight of his mistake only seemed to grow heavier with each moment spent in silence.

Just as the darkness of regret threatened to swallow him, a loud hoot suddenly interrupted his thoughts, causing him to lose focus. He opened his eyes, startled, and looked up to see Pigwidgeon, Ron’s small owl, gliding swiftly through the window. The tiny bird circled the room—his wings flapping with an urgency that felt joyous—before settling down beside Harry, a letter secured to its leg.

Harry,

I need your help immediately. Could you please meet me at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley right away? Fred and George persuaded me to help sort products in exchange for payment, but I doubt they’ll follow through. I’m stuck here until you can come and rescue me. I think they’re just messing with me again.

I used Pigwidgeon instead of Hedwig to deliver this, and he flew away before I could tie my letter to his leg. That impatient little owl! I hope he still finds his way to you.

I hope to see you soon.

Ron

Amusement spread across Harry’s face at the thought of Ron, usually the epitome of a brave Gryffindor, chasing after an errant owl with a sandwich dangling precariously from its beak. He chuckled, quickly imagining Ron’s flailing arms and exaggerated expressions. It was the kind of mental image that offered a much-needed reprieve to the weighty moments of the past.

Placing Ron’s letter gently on the table, Harry decided to freshen up and change his clothes before heading to the new joke shop in Diagon Alley. Ron had persistently urged him to visit, and Harry felt the time was finally right. He was eager to immerse himself in the whimsical world of pranks and laughter, seeing it as a chance to shake off the stress and tension weighing on him.

Lily rubbed her eyes, attempting to dispel the shadows of exhaustion from her mind. The paperwork piled around her fell into a blur, indifferent to her frustrations. She inhaled deeply, but the air remained thick with disappointment—a bittersweet reminder of the report she had poured her heart into, only to watch it crumple when Harry unexpectedly interrupted the meeting. He had managed to undermine her efforts, and with every fibre of her being, she wished she could shrug off that morning’s encounter. She scrunched up the report that had been turned down and stored it within a drawer, making a firm decision to never look at it again.

Arthur had entered with bright eyes and an enthusiasm she didn’t have the energy to reciprocate.

“Did you receive the approval?” he asked, standing at the door.

“Almost.” Her tone was clipped, and she couldn’t keep the frown from her face. “I can’t believe Harry pulled that trick right after—”

“Harry?” Arthur looked puzzled. “He visited here?”

“Yes, at the meeting.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue. “He spent the whole morning complaining to me about my absence or some other trivial issue.” A sigh escaped her, heavy with the burden of dissatisfaction. “I simply can’t deal with him any longer.”

“But what happened during the meeting?” Arthur pressed, genuine concern etched into his features.

Lily shut her eyes tightly and rubbed her temples, feeling a headache brewing. “Why are you here, Arthur? Surely you didn’t just come to discuss my meeting, right?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head sympathetically. “I came here to check up on you. I know you’ve been having a rough time lately.”

At this, Lily softened slightly. “Thanks for the concern, Arthur. It means a lot.”

“I also have something else to tell you,” he added, leaning forward, excitement narrowing his eyes.

“What?” she asked, curiosity edging out the frustration.

“Well, regarding the silver dagger with rune engravings we talked about yesterday,” he began, “I conducted some investigations and found out that it is not just an ordinary cutting tool. It is infused with potent and sinister magic that can be lethal with just one puncture, and no amount of healing spell or elixir can undo the harm caused. Therefore, it poses a significant threat and should be approached with the utmost care and vigilance.”

Lily’s eyes widened in surprise. Her mind raced back to the moments they had spent researching in Arthur’s dimly lit study, poring over ancient books. The dagger was supposed to be a mere relic, yet now it loomed larger, fitting into the tapestry of dangers she had willingly taken on—all for the pursuit of knowledge.

Arthur leaned in closer, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. “I believe I know where you can find clues about that. Let me jot down the location for you.” As he reached for a quill, disaster struck; the ink bottle toppled over, sending a cascade of dark liquid across the table.

“Blimey!” he exclaimed, grimacing at the growing ink stain spreading like a shadow.

Lily couldn’t help but laugh, even as it faded into a sigh. “This is precisely why I favour self-inking quills. Fortunately, I have a cleaning spell at the ready.” She quickly retrieved her wand from the drawer, her heart lightening at the familiar—albeit mundane—act of magic.

“Do you need help?” Arthur offered, a grin breaking through his earlier embarrassment.

“Just hold still,” she said, pointing the wand at the ink blot, murmuring an incantation. A wave of shimmering light swept over the table, erasing the evidence of Arthur’s clumsiness.

“Impressive,” he said, genuine admiration filling his tone. “You make it look effortless.”

Lily offered him a weak smile, realising she had been holding on too tightly to her frustrations. The weight of her disappointing report was still there, yes, but maybe not everything had to be a loss. Perhaps this unexpected conversation about the dagger could lead them to something greater—an adventure or a mystery that would pull her from negativity.

“Hey,” she started, her heart faltering at the thought of disappointment, but she pressed on, “what if we actually investigated this dagger together? See what we can uncover?”

Arthur’s eyes lit up, igniting a spark of excitement in Lily. “That would be incredible! I know a few places we can start.”

Harry could barely contain his excitement as he glanced around Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, the world-famous joke shop that had become a magnet for pranksters and adventurers alike. The vibrant colours and chaotic energy of the store enveloped him, each shelf overflowing with whimsical products that promised endless fun. Customers jostled past him, their laughter ringing like music through the air, an audible reminder that here, nothing was ever serious.

Ron walked ahead, a bundle of enthusiasm and adrenaline as he navigated through the throng. “Look over here, Harry!” he called out, his eyes alight with discovery. Harry followed Ron’s lead, ducking under a sign that proclaimed “Laughs Guaranteed or Your Money Back!” just as Ron pointed to a display of “Extendable Ears.” The thought of all the pranks they could pull filled Harry with glee.

“What’s that for?” Harry asked, grinning as Ron snatched one off the shelf, producing a pair of long, furry ears that wiggled in his hands.

“Eavesdropping, of course!” Ron laughed, his enthusiasm infectious. “You can listen in on conversations from far away—imagine the secrets we could uncover!”

As they roamed the aisles, Harry’s heart soared at the sight of the twins, Fred and George, orchestrating the chaos. He admired how effortlessly they managed the store, their every move dance-like as they interacted with customers, balancing orders, and tossing jokes back and forth with a skill that could only stem from years of practice. Harry felt a connection to their creativity; they had turned dreams of mischief into a reality.

After a while, the twins enlisted Harry and Ron to help with restocking. Ron eagerly accepted the challenge, and Harry’s heart raced with the thrill of being part of it all. Together, they organised Skiving Snackboxes, each one consisting of magical confections that could make the consumer feel ill, then perfectly fine again—a product of pure genius.

“Thank you for lending a hand, Harry,” Ron said, carefully placing the colourful boxes on the shelf, a look of concentration etched across his brow. He adjusted the display as if it were a work of art.

“Your assistance is truly invaluable,” George chimed in, attempting to juggle an absurd, horned object that seemed to beep randomly, which earned him an annoyed glance from Fred as he teamed up with Ron.

“I am clueless how we’ll manage to meet the high demand for these products,” George admitted, finally abandoning his attempts at juggling, though he grinned at the absurdity of the moment.

Harry laughed, patting George on the back. “I must say, this is quite impressive! You’ve truly surpassed all expectations with this place,” he exclaimed. The words felt heartfelt; he genuinely marvelled at their success and creativity.

The twins’ faces lit up, basking in Harry’s praise as if he had showered them with glittering stardust. With a renewed sense of purpose, they bounded off to assist customers, their laughter continuing to resonate within the walls, bubbling like a cauldron on a boil.

Harry stood for a moment, watching as the twins flitted around, spreading cheer and mischief. Despite the noise and commotion, there was a comforting rhythm to it all, like the heartbeat of the shop. It was clear to him that this was more than just a store; it was a sanctuary for laughter in a world that sometimes felt too serious.

As Harry arranged the neatly labelled boxes on the shelf, he was interrupted by a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned, meeting the eager gaze of Ron, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet, excitement palpable in the air between them.

“Could that be your mum, Harry?” Ron asked, his voice almost a whisper, as though he feared the moment might shatter if he spoke too loudly. He pointed towards the window, his finger trembling with enthusiasm.

Harry squinted, tilting his head, and for a fleeting moment, he struggled to reconcile the figure outside with the woman he had always known. There she was: Lily Potter, strolling gracefully along the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, her hair catching the midday sun. Her vibrant robes flowed around her like a living banner, and the familiar smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She paused in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, peering in as though weighing the merits of the items on display.

“What brings her here?” Harry mused, a mix of confusion and intrigue pinching his brow. He scanned her figure, wondering what sort of secret she might be keeping from him. Ron’s eager voice broke through his reverie.

“I’m certain she’s picking up a birthday gift for you, Harry!” Ron exclaimed, his eyes shimmering with the thrill of speculation. “She must have noticed your skills in class and on the Quidditch field too!”

The idea blossomed in Harry’s mind, vibrant and hopeful. A birthday gift. A compliment on his skills, something he so desperately longed to hear from her lips.

But as quickly as hope surged, doubt crashed in like a dark tide. While the essence of his mother’s admiration felt resonant in his heart, Harry had never heard her voice praise him directly. It gnawed at him, that familiar weight of uncertainty. He loved the thrill of flying and dreamed of being as fearless as his father had been, but he had always existed in a shadow, in a cautious world where admiration remained unspoken.

The tight knot in his stomach twisted again as he pressed his forehead against the cool glass. He could see Lily now, her reflection merging with the surrounding shops, distant yet so close. A rush of anticipation and joy swelled within, bringing warmth to his heart, yet he couldn’t quite rid himself of the caution—what if she was merely enjoying a day out? What if Ron was wrong?

“Do you think it could be?” Harry wondered aloud, the question lingering in the space between them, charged with possibility and apprehension.

Ron grinned wide, infectious in his optimism. “Why not? Let’s just wait and see!”

The sound of Ron’s excited chatter began to fade as Harry became lost in thought, his mind drifting to cherished memories intertwined with poignant longing. When Ron nudged him back to the present, Harry shook his head free of his reverie, the soft rush of hope still fluttering in his chest.

Suddenly, the door to Quality Quidditch Supplies swung open, and out stepped Lily, her hands wrapped around a bag that bulged enticingly. She looked content, her cheeks flushed, and in that moment, everything felt possible. Harry caught a glimpse of her quick smile before she turned away.

“What has she got?” Ron whispered, his voice barely squeaking in the charged stillness.

Harry’s heart raced as he tried to decipher the mystery behind that bag. He wanted to rush outside, to call out to her, to ask what she had chosen so carefully, but his feet felt rooted to the ground beneath him.

“Let’s go out there,” Ron urged, excitement bubbling over.

Harry shook his head. “I think it’d be better if I treated this as if I didn’t see anything, don’t you think? I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

”Yeah, you’re right.”

Lily glanced at the clock hanging above the reception desk in the Auror Headquarters, its ticking sound echoing against the otherwise quiet walls. Six o’clock already—a reminder that time slipped away as quickly as her thoughts. She was the last to leave; the bustling office was now a ghost town, but the fading brightness from the windows suggested she wasn’t quite ready to step into the night.

As she walked toward the lift, her mind was still lost in a whirl of unfinished reports and the weight of expectations. It was then she noticed an elderly man waiting inside the lift. He stood there in a shabby black suit, his fedora slightly askew, his eyes twinkling with an unexpected warmth. He smiled, revealing wrinkles that seemed to tell stories of their own.

Lily felt the corners of her mouth curve into a polite smile, a flicker of connection sparked in the stale air of the lift. The doors slid shut, sealing them in a small metal box that began its descent. She could already feel the weight of her day pressing on her shoulders again.

“It seems like something is on your mind,” the man said, breaking the silence gently. His voice was steady and kind, like an old-fashioned record that soothed the ear.

Surprised, Lily felt her defences rise. “What makes you think that?” she replied cautiously, her heartbeat quickening at the intrusion.

The man chuckled softly, not one to be deterred easily. “I’ve lived long enough to recognise when someone is troubled,” he replied, as if he had seen hundreds of troubled souls in his time.

Lily bit her lip, hesitating as she weighed her options. Here was a stranger, an elderly man who likely had his own worries, and yet he had the audacity to care about hers. “I’d rather not talk about it,” she decided, keeping her tone dismissive, wishing to bury her feelings once more.

He nodded in acceptance, his gaze steady, offering a silent encouragement that felt oddly comforting. “I understand. Sometimes, things have a way of working themselves out,” he said softly.

She grappled with her emotions, the guilt welling up as memories of her son flooded her mind. Despite being a skilled Auror, an individual respected by her peers, Lily couldn’t shake off the feeling of inadequacy in her role as a mother. The weight of her absenteeism crushed her; she had spent weeks buried in work, believing she was providing by being successful. But now, the realisation struck her: she hadn’t really invested time into building a relationship with him.

Something about the man’s calm demeanour tugged at her heartstrings, encouraging her to let down her guard. She took a deep breath, willing herself to share her burden. “Well…” she began, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “I’m struggling to bring happiness to my son. It puzzles me how one can love someone deeply yet struggle to express that love.”

The vulnerability in her voice surprised even her. It was a raw admission, one that had tangled itself in pride and fear for far too long.

“Do you love him?” the old man asked, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that seemed to search for truth.

“Yes, very much,” she responded, feeling the flicker of emotion rise within her chest.

He smiled gently, embodying the wisdom of years etched into his face. “As long as you love him, that is what truly counts.”

“He’s leaving tomorrow for a month, and he wants me to join him,” she revealed truthfully, her voice tinged with a mixture of excitement and hesitation.

The old man, with a thoughtful expression etched on his lined face, turned to her, his deep-set eyes piercing through her uncertainty. “What if he never returned?” he asked, as if savouring the gravity of the possibility. “Would you be able to reconcile with that scenario?”

Lily felt a chill run down her spine at the unnerving question. “What kind of question is that?” she retorted, an edge creeping into her voice as her defensive walls began to rise. “How could you even…” She let the thought drift off into the stale air of the lift, her frustration conflicting with a growing unease.

He gestured gracefully, like a seasoned storyteller unveiling a plot twist. “Imagine saying goodbye to your son once, only to never see him again. Could you come to terms with that unimaginable reality?”

The mention of losing Harry threw Lily into a flood of emotions. The air around her felt thick, stifling her thoughts. James’ absence had left a chasm in her heart that she had tried to fill with routine, with work, even with the mundane tasks of daily life. She had learnt to tread carefully around the edges of grief, fearing the pain of another loss could shatter her completely.

“No,” she gasped, her breath catching as raw panic surged within her. “No, I couldn’t bear it.” The thought was a knife, twisting and turning deeper into her gut, forcing her to confront what she despised most—vulnerability.

“Then you know what to do,” the old man said softly, allowing his words to settle like gentle rain on parched earth. “Cherish him; appreciate what you have. Just love him.”

A smile graced his weathered face, and for a fleeting moment, Lily felt a flicker of hope in that kind gaze.

As the night deepened, the castle walls of Hogwarts seemed to pulse with anticipation. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows across the ancient stone, and Harry could feel a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. Lily’s imminent arrival sent his mind spiralling through memories of misunderstandings and unspoken words.

Surrounded by his Gryffindor peers, he adjusted his red and gold tie, their house colours radiating warmth amidst the chill of the evening. Laughter echoed through the Entrance Hall as the students buzzed with excitement, but Harry found it difficult to match their enthusiasm. Instead, he silently pondered over how to express the longing he felt for his mother’s love—a love that had recently seemed so unattainable.

“Oi, Harry! You okay?” Ron’s voice broke through Harry’s thoughts, interrupting his reverie. Ron stood beside him, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression half anxious and half amused.

“Yeah, just thinking,” Harry replied, stealing a glance at the stars twinkling in the obsidian sky. “What if she doesn’t want to come around? What if she’s still upset about everything?”

Ron instinctively shrugged. “Mums can be funny like that. Sometimes they just need a little nudge, y’know?” His tone was reassuring, but Harry could see the flicker of concern in his friend’s eyes. Ron cleared his throat, glancing toward the Great Hall, where the voices of Hermione’s parents filled the air with cheer and laughter. “Hey, you’re not the only one with family anxiety. I’ve been avoiding mine all night. I messed up big in Potions—again.” He grimaced, shaking his head, his ginger hair flopping into his eyes.

“I thought you were doing better!”

“I thought so too,” Ron muttered, staring at the ground as if it held the answers to all his troubles. “But apparently, dreaming about pumpkins doesn’t count as a skill in Divination. Who knew?”

Harry chuckled, albeit nervously. “You’ll figure it out. It’s just one class.” The reminder brought a flicker of hope to Ron’s face, but the shadow of doubt still lingered as the two friends faced the unknowns ahead of them.

As the ceremony drew near, Ron gestured towards the Great Hall. “Let’s get this over with. Besides, Hermione’s parents will be expecting us to join them.” He offered a brave smile but couldn’t mask the flicker of dread sparking in his eyes.

With a deep breath, Harry stepped toward the grand entrance. They moved forward into a sea of students clad in red and gold, all brimming with excitement for the evening ahead.

The atmosphere was electric, a mix of cheers and applause echoing as familiar faces beamed up at the dais where Professor McGonagall prepared to welcome the assembly. But Harry’s focus drifted. Swallowing hard, he found himself scanning the crowd, searching for that telltale sign—his mother’s familiar hair, the warmth of her smile—anything that would reassure him that everything might be alright.

“Harry!” A voice called out, yanking him from his thoughts. He turned to see Hermione bounding towards him, her parents waving enthusiastically behind her.

She paused, noticing his subdued expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Just… my mom. She’s coming tonight.” Harry forced a smile to mask the turmoil within. He searched Hermione’s eyes for understanding, and in them, he found an unexpected spark of empathy.

“We’re all here for you, Harry. She loves you. It just might take some time for her to really understand.” Hermione’s encouraging words wrapped around him.

As the assembly commenced and the applause filled the air, Harry found comfort in the camaraderie of his friends. Even Ron, feigning confidence, managed to match the others’ enthusiasm. Together, they cheered for the recognition awards, allowing the festivities to momentarily distract them from their worries.

Just then, a figure emerged from the entrance. The hall fell quiet as Harry’s heart raced. His eyes widened as he focused on the approaching form—there stood his mother, a mix of uncertainty and warmth woven into her smile.

A rush of emotions coursed through him—nervousness giving way to hope. His mother met his gaze, and as she approached, he felt an invisible thread pulling them closer together.

“Harry.” Her voice, though soft, rang clear over the distant laughter and applause.

“Mum,” he breathed, stepping forward, the distant chatter fading away.

As the assembly continued behind them, Harry reached for her hand, feeling the warmth of her familiar touch.

As Albus Dumbledore’s words resonated in his ears, Harry stood rigid, memories swirling in his chest of sleepless nights spent cramming spells, revising enchantments, and quelling his own doubts. When the headmaster announced him as the top student, the roar of applause felt less like a triumph and more like an obligation. Hermione’s graceful clapping drew his gaze, and for the first time, he noticed the fleeting disappointment in her eyes for coming in second place, but she graciously praised Harry for his achievement. Meanwhile, Ron attempted to hide his embarrassment as he glanced nervously at his parents with a flushed face.

When Lily’s joy pierced the suffocating cobweb of tension, it broke the mood like sunlight racing through moving clouds. “Congratulations, Harry!” she exclaimed, her smile infectious, a breeze of warmth in the chill of the growing night.

“Thank you, Mum,” he replied, cherishing the sound of her voice.

“But are you ready to leave?” Lily’s watchful eyes darted, reminding Harry of the responsibilities that loomed outside the castle walls.

“Uh, yes... just one moment,” he said, quickly glancing around to talk to Ron and Hermione. He could feel their friendship urging him to stay, but the thought of leaving with his mother felt equally pressing, like choosing between a much-loved book and a cosy night by the fire.

Upon his return to Lily’s side, she enquired again, “Are you all set now?” Her anticipation was palpable, and Harry noticed a slight twitch of worry.

With a nod, Harry and Lily made their way down the staircase, heading towards the Entrance Hall to exit the castle.

Hermione’s voice broke through the noise as they descended the grand staircase. “Congratulations once again, Harry!” she called out, not missing a step. Ron matched her pace, a proud smile plastered on his face.

“Well done, mate,” Ron chimed in, pausing behind Harry and Lily with a proud smile.

“Good evening, Mrs. Potter,” Hermione greeted politely, while Ron’s eyes darted nervously towards her. “My parents have extended an invitation for you and Harry to join us for dinner tonight.”

Harry glanced at his mother, momentarily caught between the light of friendship and the shadow of obligation. Before he could fully articulate his desire to stay, Hermione jumped in, “Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will be there too.” Her gaze was fervent, urging Lily to loosen her grasp on Harry’s destiny for just one evening.

“Please consider joining us,” Ron added, his voice thick with emotions. It was more than an invitation; it was a plea. “It will be a delightful evening.”

But Lily’s voice cut decisively through the air, firm and unwavering. “We are unable to attend tonight,” she said, her grip tightening around Harry’s arm. “It’s time to go.”

As she guided him towards the entrance, Harry felt a throbbing ache in his chest. He turned slightly to see Ron’s hopeful face dampened by disappointment and Hermione’s worried expression, as though the invitation had evaporated in the wind. An “I’m sorry” escaped his lips, one he hoped would carry across the distance that was now forming between them.

“Let’s go,” Lily urged, her tone shifting towards concern, misreading his silence for defiance as they exited Hogwarts’ walls, where magic met reality.