FicWad

The soft chime of the bell over the door signalled another customer entering Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, a sound that barely registered in the tense bubble that encased Harry and his mother, Lily. As they sat across from each other, the delightful aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted around them, clashing violently with the weight of their unspoken words.

Harry fidgeted in his seat, his instinct to escape the suffocating atmosphere almost overwhelming. The last time he had been here, he’d shared a seat with Cho, the awkward beginnings of young love that now felt like an eternity ago. The lilting melodies floating through the air reminded him of the lightness he had once felt, but today those echoes were drowned by the heaviness of the conversation that loomed ahead.

His mother was staring out of the window, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. Harry followed her gaze but found no distractions beyond the bustling street—just friends laughing and couples lost in their own worlds, oblivious to the turmoil brewing in his heart.

“Mum,” he began, the word a timid offering, full of the ache he felt inside. Each syllable surged forth like an apology hanging heavily between them.

Without meeting his eyes, she took a breath, her expression shifting—serious and resolute. “The meeting was a disaster, Harry. The Chief Auror is absolutely livid. What you did impacts me, my job—the safety of our world. I need you to understand the gravity of that.” The confession fell from her lips as though it physically pained her.

Harry’s stomach twisted, knots of dread tightening with each word. He wished he could retract the incident, rewind their lives to moments before his recklessness had sent them spiralling. If only he’d not interfered. If only he had recognised his mother’s apprehension when she left for that fateful meeting, the folder containing crucial information tucked under her arm.

“I… I’m sorry for my actions,” he stumbled over his words, the strength of his remorse filtering through, “It was wrong of me to involve you.”

“Do you even comprehend the embarrassment I feel right now?” The words snapped from Lily's lips, sharper than she intended, and Harry flinched. The disappointment in her voice made him ache in ways he hadn’t expected.

Bow his head and fall silent, he did. The curtain of shame smothered him, and he could only manage a murmur, “I do. I deeply regret my mistake.”

The moment stretched between them like an elastic band ready to snap. Lily, fighting her own whirlwind of emotions, waved a hand dismissively as if to disperse the air heavy with guilt. The silence that followed was suffocating.

Finally, breaking the tension, Lily sighed deeply, “So, what else has been occupying your time?”

Harry hesitated, searching for a topic that might dilute the bitterness of their earlier exchange. “Ron’s twin brothers opened Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, a joke shop on Diagon Alley. I visited them this morning to assist with their—”

“Oh, how amusing.” Her tone dripped with disinterest as her gaze lingered outside the window, the lively street scene beckoning as if it could swallow her whole and transport her far away from the weight of their conversation.

Harry felt a pang at her response. While he understood her frustration, he wanted to share the joy he felt amidst the chaos surrounding them. “They’ve got some brilliant ideas! You should see the new products they’re launching. I even helped with a few of them. There’s this one joke snack that makes your voice squeak like a mouse.”

Lily’s distant eyes remained glued to the window, seemingly transfixed on a couple holding hands. The radiant joy on their faces was starkly contrasted by the cloud of unease hovering over her. “It’s great, Harry. Really,” she replied, the lack of genuine enthusiasm painfully evident.

Harry looked down at the table, tracing the delicate design of the tablecloth with his finger as though it could offer him guidance. Despite his yearning to connect with her, each attempt felt like a leap into an abyss—safe, yet perilous.

The gentle melody drifted through the air, weaving through the tense silence that enveloped Harry and Lily. The soft glow of the chandelier above cast a warm light on their faces, but all it succeeded in doing was illuminating the chasm that had grown between them over the years.

Harry’s gaze flitted to the couples swaying to the music nearby, their joy a stark contrast to the bittersweet memories echoing in his mind—memories of his parents dancing in a sun-dappled park during happier times. The vision of his father lifting Lily, her laughter ringing like bells, momentarily eclipsed the heaviness in his heart. With a shy breath, he turned back to her, feeling a surge of bravery. "Would you like to dance with me?"

The words left him like a fragile hope tossed into the dark. But Lily's response cut through the air, colder than he had anticipated. “When have you ever seen me dance?” The iciness of her tone felt sharp against his skin, as if the chill had seeped in from the windows.

He swayed, not from the music but from the emotional blow of her words. Harry was an artist at heart, and his feelings often bled onto the canvas of his existence, but the raw truth of their conversation seemed to paint them into the darkest corner of despair. “What did you do after the meeting this afternoon?” he asked, grasping for the threads of conversation, desperate to steer them away from confrontation.

“I spent the rest of the day exploring the city, deep in thought.” Lily’s voice was flat, void of the enthusiasm a mother might have when discussing the wonders of a city.

“What were you thinking about?” Harry pressed, willing his heart to remain steady.

“About you,” she replied, her eyes momentarily softening.

Harry's stomach tightened.

“This morning was tough,” Lily said, glancing at him. “And the meeting didn’t make things any easier.” She sighed, the weight of her world evident in that one breath. “However, a chance encounter with an elderly man in the lift made me realise that despite our differences, we share a special connection that I hold dear.” She paused, the silence between them growing thicker. “Despite the challenges of today, you remain significant in my life.”

She gathered her thoughts, her fingers nervously brushing the table, as if she were trying to smooth away the wrinkles of their relationship. “I want us to keep working on this, Harry, even though I’m aware of the obstacles. I genuinely desire for us to continue striving. I truly believe that we have something worth fighting for.”

Harry absorbed her words, feeling them spiral in his mind. He remained silent, grappling with the implications. Although they intuitively knew that they stood on opposite shores of a troubling emotional sea, he couldn't find the words to bridge that distance.

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion and hurt. “What exactly do you mean by ‘obstacle’?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His vulnerability pierced through the tension, exposing a young man eager for understanding. “Have I unknowingly become a burden in your life?”

Lily crossed her arms tightly over her chest, the weight of her responsibilities apparent in her stance. “You have to realise the immense challenges I face in raising you, Harry. I’m constantly striving to ensure your well-being. How would your father have reacted in such a situation?” Her voice crackled with the tension of unprocessed grief.

Harry felt each word like a knife, cutting through the optimism he had tried to maintain. “I’m diligently putting in my best efforts each day to assist you. I’m following your wishes, hoping to make Dad proud of me. That’s my ultimate goal.” The earnestness in his tone should have soothed the air, but instead, it only thickened Lily’s resolve.

An air of frustration lingered. “Your father would be disappointed to witness the person you have become,” she retorted sharply. “You lack strength and determination. You’re falling short in your efforts. You need to strive for betterment in all aspects.”

Harry clenched his fists, fighting against the tide of bitterness that threatened to pull him under. “That’s not true. I’m exerting myself to the best of my abilities—”

“Excuses! Your approach is feeble and inadequate. Stop making excuses and push yourself harder,” she interrupted, her voice rising like the swell of an impending storm.

“Am I merely a disappointment to you?” Harry’s voice trembled, a mixture of anger and sadness flooding through. “Despite excelling academically and achieving top grades, none of it seems to matter to you. I have dedicated years to rigorous work. Is that not commendable?”

“Academic accolades do not equate to invincibility,” Lily shot back, her eyes flashing. “Life revolves around more than just numbers and accomplishments. Your character and principles make all the difference in the real world.”

Harry's heart raced as he attempted to explain himself. “I never intended to—”

“You need to acknowledge your shortcomings and take concrete steps towards self-improvement,” she interrupted again, her bluntness striking hard against Harry’s self-esteem. “While you waste your time in frivolous pursuits, lives are at stake. Your priorities are in disarray. It’s high time you re-evaluate your stance.”

Desperation flickered in Harry’s eyes. “I’m trying my best to contribute—”

“Your efforts fall short!” Lily’s tone rose, their emotions volcanic in their intensity. “Your father made the ultimate sacrifice for you. He invested everything in your well-being. How can you overlook his sacrifice? He was my pillar of strength, my source of sanity. Do you even care? Your actions have taken him away from us! Your selfishness is unfathomable.”

The silence that followed was thunderous. It felt as if the air itself had been sucked out of the room. Harry looked down, his heart heavy with a bewildering mix of guilt and resentment.

“No, it’s not selfishness,” Harry finally said, his legs shaking frantically beneath him. “I’m not trying to ignore Dad’s sacrifice. I’m just trying to be someone who helps—not someone who burdens you. But I can’t keep doing this if you don’t see who I am beyond the grades. I’m not just a reflection of Dad. I’m me. And I’m trying.”

Harry’s pulse quickened. Overwhelmed by a surge of profound sorrow and inner turmoil, he struggled to contain the intense emotions swirling within him. An invisible barrier seemed to have risen between them, making him feel isolated, detached. He recalled how he’d spent so long planning this evening, envisioning laughter and stories about the past, yet here they were, adrift in disappointment and resentment.

“Why can’t you perceive my intentions?” Harry’s voice trembled as tears threatened to spill. He clenched his fists beneath the table, hoping to steady the tremors within. “Everything I do, I do for you. Can’t you find it in your heart to be proud of me just once? Is it too much to ask for a moment of happiness and connection between us?”

Lily’s expression softened momentarily, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Harry's words flowed out faster than he could rein them in.

“I do try to communicate with you—”

“Do you really, though?” Harry’s tone hardened, juxtaposing the sorrow in his heart. “You rarely open up with me about Dad. You forgot about an important moment for me—the school assembly. You didn’t even look my friends in the eye when they invited us to have dinner with them; you just avoided them, like they’d catch something!”

He paused, taking a deep, heavy breath, feeling the futility of trying to bridge the chasm between them. “Mum, I understand you mean well, but sometimes I feel like I’m just another puzzle for you to solve as an Auror, not your son.” His voice cracked, and tears streamed down his cheeks, carving paths through the frustration. “The saddest part is that I’m starting to accept it,” he continued, his heart weighed down by resignation.

Confusion furrowed Lily's brow as she struggled to grasp what her son was saying. “What are you trying to tell me?”

The weight of grief enveloped Harry—like a heavy cloak suffocating the spark of hope he carried. “If only we had one day, Mum—one day where nothing else mattered except our connection. That would have been enough.”

He searched his mother’s face, looking for a glimmer of understanding, but all he saw was a jumble of confused emotions swirling within her. Silence stretched between them, filled only by the muted clamour of the restaurant, as if the world outside had faded into a distant echo.

“I’m going home,” he finally said, his voice quiet and broken. Rising from his seat, he brushed away the tears that blurred his vision, desperate to cling to the last strands of hope he had left. “What about you? I saw you earlier at Quality Quidditch Supplies. What were you up to there?”

“Work,” Lily replied, her voice flat and devoid of any connection.

At that moment, Harry felt his heart fracture under the weight of her dismissal. An impulse to scream— to compel her to feel the depth of his sorrow— coursed through him, but he swallowed it down. Instead, he clenched his jaw and made the painful decision to turn and walk away.

Meanwhile, Lily remained seated, her heart sinking into an abyss of regret. She pressed her palms against her forehead, as if hoping to massage the sense of disappointment away. The evening had promised a chance to reconnect with her son—her little boy who had grown into a teenager—but now it felt completely lost.

The words she had spoken, sharp and thoughtless, echoed in her mind. How could she have been so careless? She recalled the way Harry had looked at her, eyes wide with disbelief and pain, a mirror reflecting her own frustrations. She had been overwhelmed, feeling the weight of her relentless job and her struggles as a single mother. But Harry didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of her burdens.

Lily’s heart twisted with the realisation that she had let her son fall prey to her dismissive remarks, leaving scars on his spirit that she hadn’t even noticed. She had twisted her love into an illusion of safety, but in doing so, she had inadvertently pushed him away.

The soothing ambiance shattered suddenly, a jarring silence enveloping the room as the music halted. A few customers glanced around in confusion, but it was the collective stares toward the window that pronounced the shift.

Lily peered outside, her heart sinking as chaos erupted mere feet from her safe spot. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision—figures were running, shouting, and the air crackled with a tense energy. Pops echoed, sharp and malicious, blending with cries that sliced through the stillness. The atmosphere thickened with fear, a fog curling around her lungs.

Despite her better judgement urging her to stay inside, Lily felt a rush of adrenaline fuel her. She shot to her feet as another shuddering scream reached her ears, locking her in place. Just then, the door swung open, unveiling a dishevelled man whose eyes were wide with terror.

“There’s been an attack! It’s mayhem out there!” He gasped, his voice trembling.

The words struck like a hammer, reverberating through the hesitant crowd. Shock and dread painted their faces—a gallery of horror. In that instant, they were drawn together by fear, but Lily felt alone, compelled to step outside the confines of the shop. She couldn’t just hide among fearful onlookers; something inside her burnt with the desire to act.

Heart pounding, she dashed toward the door, throwing it open against the tide of panic. Outside, the once-familiar street morphed into a nightmarish scene. Shadows loomed and flickered in the dim light, revealing familiar figures—Death Eaters, their dark cloaks billowing ominously as they glided through the chaos. The air was thick with screams, intense dread swelling within her.

Clutching her wand, Lily forced herself to focus through the maelstrom of fear overwhelming her senses. She had trained for moments like this; she couldn’t let terror consume her now. She caught sight of the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange in the crowd. The witch’s twisted smile radiated malice, and Lily's heart dropped as Bellatrix unleashed a spine-chilling cackle that echoed in her ears before vanishing into the shadows, lost to the chaos.

No, she couldn’t freeze. She wouldn’t—Lily took a deep breath and sprinted down the street, steel determination fuelling her every step. The adrenaline flowed through her veins, quickening her resolve. As she rounded the corner, she stumbled upon a horrifying sight— a figure sprawled across the pavement, struggling to breathe.

Lily’s breath hitched in her throat, a knot of despair tightening in her chest. She approached hesitantly, feeling sweat bead along her brow as her heart raced. The person groaned, twisting in agony. She knelt on the cold, hard ground.

She recognised the familiar green eyes staring back at her through the storm of fear and desperation. They bore into her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine and twisted her heart so painfully that it felt like a vice.

“No!” she cried out in despair, her voice cracking like brittle glass. “Harry, oh, Merlin, no! Please, no!”

Harry’s face was glistening with tiny beads of sweat. He whimpered, his breath coming in jagged gasps. “Mum?”

Lily’s heart broke anew at the sound of his voice, so small and scared. She fought against the rush of tears that blurred her vision. Clasping his trembling hand in both of hers, she felt the familiar pulse of life, fragile yet strong. “I’m here, Harry. I’m right here,” she whispered, choking back a sob, her heart echoing the fear reflected in his eyes. “I won’t leave you.”

Harry cried in pain, clutching his stomach, the fire of torment radiating through his body. It felt as if the sharpness of the silver blade was not just tearing into flesh, but into the very essence of him. The ominous symbols etched into its surface telegraphed the dark magic at work—wrath and vengeance manifesting into the physical realm with cruel efficiency.

Lily swallowed hard, forcing away the panic that threatened to swallow her whole. The emerald hues of Harry’s eyes shimmered with tears, and for a moment, Lily felt the crush of helplessness settle on her chest.

“Mum!” Harry screamed in agony, his body contorting in pain. Lily held tightly onto his hand, providing the only solace he had in that moment. Wide-eyed with fear, Harry looked up at his mother as he struggled to breathe.

Meeting his emerald eyes filled with anguish, she spoke gently, “Harry, I know the pain is unbearable, and removing the knife will cause even more, but I have to try.” She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him as he braced himself. “It will be over soon,” she assured him, her voice tight with fear yet steady enough to instill a hint of hope in her son’s desperate gaze.

Taking a deep breath, she shifted her focus from her own fear to the task at hand. With a steady hand, she grasped the blade’s handle. As she did, a sensation rippled in the air, the energy around them thick with dread. This was not just a dagger; it was a curse, a dark token left by someone who bore enmity towards them.

“Mum?” Harry's voice trembled, and his eyes were wide with a blend of trust and desperation. “I can’t…” He gasped again, the sheer enormity of pain threatening to pull him into unconsciousness.

“I know, just hold on! On the count of three, alright?” Lily tried to sound confident, but her voice quivered like a leaving ember.

“Please…” Harry whimpered.

“Three,” she breathed, gathering all the courage within her.

With a swift motion, she pulled the blade from his side.

The scream that erupted from Harry’s throat was primal, a raw echo of agony that seemed to turn the very air toxic. Lily’s heart shattered at the sheer sound of it, and she quickly dropped the dagger to the ground, where it clattered ominously onto the earth, as if mocking her efforts.

“Shhhh, love,” Lily whispered, moving frantically to lay her hands over the wound, whispering the healing incantation that had been taught to her since childhood. Her wand glowed with a soft, warm light, but against this curse, her efforts seemed feeble.

Harry writhed beneath her, tears staining the ground. “It hurts so much! I can’t breathe!”

Harry’s body was racked with violent coughs, making it hard for him to speak. Each cough felt like a stab, and he pressed a trembling hand against his chest, as if to hold himself together. Lily watched in shock, rooted to the spot, as her boy began to cough up blood, droplets splattering the ground.

“Harry,” she gasped, her voice a shaky whisper of disbelief.

His face was a waxy shade of pale as exhaustion eclipsed his teenage vibrance. With effort, he turned his head slightly towards her. “I’m sorry,” he squeezed out through gasps.

Lily's heart was heavy with sorrow, her breaths hitching as she fought back fresh waves of tears. She looked down at Harry, feeling helpless as another violent cough shattered the air. “Please, sweetheart. Just breathe,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of every unspoken fear.

Harry gazed up at his mother, his blue eyes shimmering with vulnerability. He swallowed hard, a painful motion that threatened to upend him again. “I’m… sorry,” he murmured, this time quieter, a fragile sigh almost lost amidst his laboured breaths. He grasped her hand tightly, his grip weak yet insistent, as another wave of excruciating pain coursed through his frail body.

“Don’t worry, love,” Lily said, her voice barely a whisper but filled with fierce determination. She squeezed his hand gently, wanting to transfer warmth and hope. “Everything will be alright.”

With each passing moment, Harry’s condition worsened. He closed his eyes and released a faint moan as the pain surged through him.

“Harry, stay awake…” Lily pleaded, her voice trembling like the fragile leaves above. Despite her best attempts at casting the healing spells she’d practiced endlessly, nothing seemed to penetrate the abyss that threatened her son.

Harry’s eyelids felt like lead, heavy, and resistant. He struggled to keep them open, battling the darkness that beckoned him. “Mum,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his vision swimming dangerously in and out of focus.

Lily lowered herself to his level, her heart shattering at the sight of her son in pain. She grasped his hand tightly, squeezing it as if her love could somehow mend him. “I’m here, sweetheart,” she reassured him, her tears cascading down her cheeks, wetting his palm. “I’m here with you.”

“Sorry—I’m not—strong enough,” he coughed, a splatter of crimson staining his lips. His body trembled, the fight within him seemingly fading with every heartbeat.

“No!” Lily cried out, her voice a mixture of disbelief and anguish, echoing through the silent street. “That’s not true! You’re brave. You’re incredibly brave.” Her words were as fragile as the fireflies flickering in the dimness around them.

But as time dragged on, Harry’s energy waned, leaving him feeling lighter than air, drifting between consciousness and the void. His breaths became shallow, each inhale more laboured than the last. The once vibrant green of his eyes dulled, drifting closed as exhaustion took hold.

“No, no, no… Harry!” Lily’s cries of desperation shattered the stillness, her voice filled with a rawness that tore at the very fabric of the night. “Don’t close your eyes! Please… please…” She cradled him in her arms, rocking him gently as her heart shattered under the weight of grief.

But Harry, struggling against the inevitable heaviness, managed to crack his eyes open one last time. He peered through the haze, desperate to see her, his beloved mother, one last time. “I love you, Mum,” he whispered hoarsely, the words laced with both pain and warmth, his spirit fighting against the tide.

“I love you, too,” she choked out, her fingers weaving through his hair, tracing the outlines of his face as if imprinting each feature into her very soul. “So much.” Her love enveloped him, an ethereal warmth amidst the cold grip of despair.

In that moment of shared comfort, Harry strained to meet her gaze, searching for the familiar green irises that mirrored his own—a bond stronger than any magic, infinite and eternal. As he drew his final breath, relief washed over him amidst the encroaching shadows, a bittersweet smile gracing his lips as the darkness finally claimed him.

Lily's heart raced with the instinctual panic of a mother as she shook Harry’s shoulders gently, desperate to rouse him from the depths of the silence that enveloped him.

“Harry! NO! Please, wake up!” she cried, her voice cracking into a desperate whisper as her hands trembled. Time blurred around her; it was as if the universe had chosen to halt its rhythm in the face of her grief.

She stared down at her son, where he lay—so still, so peaceful in his lifelessness. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, which had been such a comforting presence, was gone. The vibrant emerald eyes that had sparkled with mischief and warmth were now closed, leaving a void in the world that Lily could not bear to acknowledge. She held his hand tightly, as if her grip alone could anchor him back to her, back to life.

Frantic memories flooded her mind—the sound of his laughter as they shared the joys of magic, the softness of his hair when she comforted him after a nightmare, the whispered secrets exchanged under a blanket of stars. But now, those memories felt like a cruel tease in the face of the unbearable reality.

“I can bring him back,” she whispered to herself, a conviction rising within her even as despair clawed at her. She reached for her wand, her fingers shaking as she grasped it tightly, the familiar weight offering a fleeting sense of control in the chaos of her emotions. With determination blazing in her heart, she began to chant the healing spells she knew. Her voice mingled with the shadows, imbued with a mother’s indomitable love.

But before she could finish, a gentle hand settled on her shoulder, firm yet soothing. She turned to see an elderly man, his features lined with age and wisdom, his eyes sorrowful yet resolute. He stood close, an anchor in her tumultuous sea of despair.

“There’s nothing more you can do. He’s gone,” he whispered gently, his voice a calm balm against the storm raging inside her.

“NO!” Lily insisted, her voice rising. The denial tore at her, raw and unapologetic. “I can heal him, and he’ll be fine again like always—”

A cold wave of reality crashed around her. The knowledge that she could not escape washed over her, filling her throat with a bitter taste. The man held her arm to keep her grounded, his gaze steady as he spoke.

“It’s too late,” he said. The words, so simple yet so weighty, felt like stones in her heart.

“NO!” The single syllable became a scream for her reality, throbbing with the pain of every denied hope and each selfish wish for a different outcome. “I can save him; I won’t give up.”

With a trembling desperation, she thrashed against his grasp, her eyes darting back to her son, still hoping—hoping against all reason that she could bring him back. Frantic thoughts surged through her: if she just tried harder, if she just cast one more spell…

But even as she thought it, the truth seeped in like a frigid mist. The chill of acceptance wrapped around her heart, binding it in a web of grief. The old man watched her, sadness etched into his features, and slowly shook his head.

“He’s gone,” he repeated softly, the whisper of confirmation sending shivers down her spine.

A raw, aching cry tore from her lips as the weight of his words sank in. With a shuddering breath, Lily crumpled to the ground, her body folding in on itself, tears cascading down her cheeks like a tempest. Each droplet felt like a part of her soul slipping away, carrying the essence of the vibrant life she had cherished.

In that moment, all the noise of the world faded, leaving only the sound of her heart breaking. She curled her fingers tighter around Harry’s hand, as if still connected by an unbreakable bond, willing him back even as she grappled with the truth.

“Please,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “Please come back.”

But the silence persisted, heavy and unyielding, wrapping around her like a cloak of darkness. With her spirit dimmed, she closed her eyes, allowing her tears to flow freely, not just for Harry, but for the dreams that would never be realised and the love that would never fade.