FicWad

The London air buzzed with its usual hum—honking from some impatient Muggle car further down the street, the clatter of cutlery and glasses spilling from nearby pubs, hurried footsteps against paving stones. The faint warmth of late afternoon light draped the buildings in gold. Magic shimmered quietly at the edge of it all, just beneath the surface—subtle, but present, like a heartbeat.

Lily stood still just outside the Leaky Cauldron, beside Harry, her breathing shallow. People moved around them in a blur: a swish of robes here, a sudden laugh there. Wand tips glowing faintly. Shopfronts blinking with enchantments. The street pulsed with familiar life.

And yet—something felt different.

Her fingers twisted a loose strand of hair round and round as her eyes scanned the alley, though she wasn’t really looking. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Skipping. Circling.

Next step, Lily. Come on.

Beside her, Harry stood with his hands in his pockets, the breeze ruffling his hair. He looked calm—far too calm, if she were honest. There was something in the tilt of his head, in the way he watched her, that made her think he wasn’t worried at all.

“What now?” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Harry arched a brow. “Are you lost in your own thoughts, Mum?”

Lily blinked, caught out. She gave him a look, half fond, half exasperated. “I’m considering our next move,” she said, straightening a little, feigning formality. “Strategically. As any good Gryffindor would.”

That earned her a grin. But the truth was, her mind wouldn’t stop ticking. The day was too quiet. Too open. And open days were the ones where things happened.

Her gaze drifted across the shops again, all of them glinting like promises. But which one to trust?

“Is there anywhere you’d like to go?” she asked eventually, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She was surprised to hear herself say it. She was meant to be steering the ship, not offering the wheel to someone else—especially not her son.

Harry looked at her, wide-eyed. “You’re asking me?”

“Under very specific conditions,” she said, trying not to smile. “You choose. But it has to be somewhere safe. And I’m coming with you. Non-negotiable.”

He beamed. Just like James used to, when he got his way. “Deal! But—I want it to be a surprise.”

Lily hesitated. Her brows lifted. “Harry—”

“Please?” he interrupted, with that look he’d perfected since he was five years old. The one that said, I know you’re stronger than the world, but I also know you’ll let me try. It had always undone her.

She sighed, long and theatrical. “Fine. But if this ends in chaos or magical livestock, I’m telling Professor McGonagall it was your idea.”

His laughter rang out—bright, delighted, a sound that pulled at something deep in her chest. “You’ll love it. Promise.”

They turned together, easing back into the slow flow of the crowd. Wizards and Muggles brushed past, never quite seeing one another, two worlds sharing the same cobblestones. The day was bright, but Lily still couldn’t shake the feeling of something lurking behind it.

“I know we could just Apparate,” Harry said, watching the road ahead, “but that’d ruin the surprise. Can we take the Knight Bus? I haven’t been on it since I was a kid.”

Lily opened her mouth to say no—pure instinct. Apparition was faster. Cleaner. Safer.

But then she looked at him—his eyes dancing, full of that reckless spark she hadn’t seen in too long. Her stomach twisted. A strange mix of nerves and… nostalgia?

The Knight Bus. Merlin. It had been years.

She hesitated, then said lightly, “Alright. But if this ends with us stranded in a field outside Bodmin, I’m sending a howler.”

Harry whooped. “Deal!”

Lily rolled her eyes and raised her wand.

BANG.

The Knight Bus screeched into existence, three decks high, brakes screaming. A passing cyclist swerved and shouted something rude as the enormous purple vehicle lurched to a stop in front of them.

Its doors creaked open with a noise like a coffin lid being dragged sideways.

Lily sighed.

Here we go.

They clambered aboard quickly—Lily ushering Harry up the steps before Stan Shunpike could launch into one of his rambling monologues about famous passengers and exploding chamber pots. She caught the glint of recognition in Stan’s eyes, offered him a quick, polite nod, then slipped into a padded seat near the back without breaking stride.

The bus gave a violent jolt as it pulled away, leaping forward like a startled hippogriff. Lily reached for the armrest out of habit, fingers tightening around the worn fabric as the Knight Bus lurched through London, knocking pedestrians aside with neither apology nor notice.

Harry, naturally, looked like he was having the time of his life.

He returned to her side with a bounce in his step and a grin tugging at his mouth, coins clinking in his palm.

Lily eyed him sideways, pretending to ignore the way he was quietly trying not to laugh. “You look far too pleased with yourself.”

He shrugged, that grin widening. “It’s a good plan.”

“Which you still haven’t told me.”

“That’s the point.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, though her lips twitched. “You’re not going to make me ride a hippogriff, are you?”

“Nope,” Harry said, settling in beside her. “This is better.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “Better how?”

“You’ll see.”

The bus gave another great shudder as it veered around a sharp corner, sending a stack of enchanted suitcases flying across the aisle. One of them groaned.

Lily ignored it. “If this ends in a surprise party, I swear I’ll hex you.”

“No party. Promise.” His eyes gleamed. “I know how you feel about those.”

She smiled despite herself. He did know. Far more than a teenage boy should. There were moments—like this—when it hit her all over again: how much he saw. How much he understood, even when she tried to hide it. That sharp-eyed stillness he’d had since he was little. Quiet, thoughtful, and always watching.

The thought tugged at her. She leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment, letting the world blur around her. Whatever this surprise was—she hoped it really would be worth it. And if not… well, she was with him. That was worth something in itself.

The scenery outside shifted by degrees. The sharp angles of London softened into long hedgerows and uneven fences, then gave way to sloping fields. Rows of terraced houses disappeared behind them, replaced by flashes of wildflowers and patches of golden grass. Trees lined the road like old guards, their leaves rustling faintly even through the enchanted windows.

Lily turned her head and rested it against the cool glass. Her breath misted faintly on the pane as she watched the countryside drift past. The city felt a long way off now—like something she’d dreamt, half-remembered and already fading.

There was something peaceful about it. Quiet. Almost safe.

“Are you going to tell me why I’m not allowed to guess?” she asked eventually, nudging Harry gently with her elbow.

He smirked, folding his arms. “Because it’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Of course it will,” she muttered, but she was smiling now, too. He had that look again—that unmistakable gleam of mischief, like James after he’d stolen a bottle of Butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta’s back room and hadn’t yet been caught.

It stole the breath right out of her.

She blinked, hard. Let the memory pass. One thing at a time.

They talked for a while, the conversation drifting like the fields outside—easy, unhurried. Bits of schoolwork, neighbours, and a film Harry wanted to drag her to when exams were done. He spoke with the same rapid excitement he’d had when he was seven and trying to convince her to let him fly higher on his toy broom. It made her ache, in the best and worst of ways.

Still, through all the chatter, Lily’s mind refused to quiet. She kept glancing at him, watching for a flicker of a hint, a betrayal of this grand plan he seemed so delighted with. Beaches? The Quidditch Museum? Surely not the Department of Mysteries—Merlin forbid.

But he held firm. That brightness in his eyes remained, and whatever this was, it mattered to him.

That alone was enough to keep her in her seat.

She glanced once more at the shifting hills and let herself breathe, her hand resting quietly on the armrest between them.

The countryside outside the window gradually came into focus—hedgerows she hadn’t seen in years, that winding lane that always dipped a little too sharply, and the crooked signpost at the fork in the road, still leaning stubbornly to the left.

Lily sat up straighter. Her heart gave a sharp, almost painful thud. “Hang on…” she murmured, eyes narrowing. “Was that—did we just pass Ottery St Catchpole?”

And then she saw it.

Tucked between the hills, quiet as ever, the village came into view. Slate roofs heavy with ivy, smoke curling lazily from chimneys, the late-afternoon sun glazing the cobblestones in gold. Everything just as it had been, just as it always would be.

He brought me here?

She turned slowly to Harry. He wasn’t looking at her—his gaze was fixed on the window, but his fingers were fidgeting in his lap, tugging at the sleeve of his jumper.

“We can keep going,” he said quickly, still not meeting her eyes. “If you don’t want to stop. I just… I remembered you talking about it once. You and Dad. I thought—I don’t know. I wanted to see it.”

Lily stared at him, the words caught somewhere between her throat and her chest. She couldn’t speak. The world felt suddenly too full.

“You remembered that?” she managed at last, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry gave a one-shouldered shrug. “You only said it once. But I remember everything you say.”

Her breath caught. Just for a moment. The ache in her chest bloomed, but it was a soft ache—one made of pride and something deeper still. He really had remembered.

Before she could say more, the bus gave a great shudder, and Stan’s voice bellowed from the front, “Godric’s Hollow!”

The words landed like a stone in her stomach.

The doors hissed open. A breeze swept in, warm and fragrant—honeysuckle and wild roses and the faint trace of woodsmoke. Lily stood slowly, one hand resting on the seat for balance. Her legs felt like they didn’t quite belong to her.

She stepped down onto the gravel path. The sunlight wrapped around her shoulders. Harry followed close behind, his trainers crunching softly beside hers.

Godric’s Hollow.

It was almost unchanged. The narrow high street wound gently between weathered stone buildings and neat little shops. The post office still had its red door, freshly painted. A bakery two doors down displayed fat sugared buns in the window, and from somewhere nearby came the clear notes of a violin, rising and falling like a lullaby.

It should have been comforting.

But instead, Lily felt like a ghost. A memory come walking.

The village had gone on without her—had healed, and changed, and learnt to smile again. But inside her, time hadn’t moved. Not really. It was still the same street where James had stolen kisses under the stars. Still the place where they’d whispered dreams over mugs of cocoa. Where everything had felt possible.

Her throat closed. She swallowed hard.

“I don’t think I belong here,” she said quietly, not meaning to speak aloud.

Harry turned towards her, frowning slightly. “Mum…”

His hand found her shoulder—gentle, steady. Warm.

“I know it’s hard,” he said. “But we’re here together. We’ll get through it.”

She nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Her voice felt far away. “I haven’t been back since your father…” She trailed off. The words didn’t need finishing.

Every corner still held him. Every stone whispered his name.

And yet—when she looked at Harry, something inside her shifted. He wasn’t James. But he was. A part of him, living and laughing and choosing her, even now. Maybe this place didn’t have to stay frozen in memory. Maybe it could hold something new.

“I’m glad you brought me,” she said at last, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Truly. I don’t think I could’ve come on my own.”

Harry smiled—open and easy, all sunlight and mischief. “So… what do we do first?”

Lily took a breath and let it fill her, the way she used to when she needed courage.

“Anything,” she said softly. “Anywhere. As long as we’re together.”

Lily paused just outside the little tavern, her gaze lifting to the sign swinging gently in the breeze above the door. The Hollows Tavern. Faded paint. Slightly crooked. Familiar as breath.

“Oh…” she said softly, almost to herself. A smile bloomed on her lips, not bright, but deep and warm. “Your father and I used to come here all the time.”

She turned to Harry, her hand finding his sleeve. “This was our spot. He always ordered the shepherd’s pie—said it was the only thing outside of Hogwarts that tasted right—and after supper, without fail, he’d drag me up for a dance. Right in the middle of the room. No music, half the time.”

She laughed at the memory—light, unguarded. “People used to roll their eyes and say we looked like something out of a daft romance novel.”

Harry gave a quiet chuckle and gently steered her towards the door.

The tavern creaked open to them like an old friend. The warmth inside wrapped itself around Lily at once—cosy, golden, rich with the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread, and just a hint of old wood and spilt ale.

She hesitated in the doorway for half a second, blinking hard. Merlin. It was exactly the same.

They took a booth near the window, the wooden bench softened and smoothed by years of laughter and elbows and secret hand-holding under the table. A candle floated just above them in a glass lantern, its flickering light casting long shadows that danced against the walls.

Lily let her fingertips trace the edge of the table, the grooves and nicks in the wood familiar as a lullaby. Her smile lingered.

“So many nights we sat here,” she murmured. “James always claimed this was the best table—said you could see the whole room from here. Not that he ever spent much time looking at anyone but me.” Her voice was light, but her eyes were far away.

Harry looked around, taking it in—his gaze moving from the uneven floorboards to the crooked frames on the walls. “It’s… charming,” he said. “Feels more real than those posh places people go on about.”

Lily smiled, warmth rising to her cheeks. “That’s exactly what your grandfather used to say. A good pub shouldn’t try to impress you. It should feel like it’s known you all your life.”

Her eyes drifted once more around the room. The candlelight, the quiet clink of cutlery, the gentle hum of old conversations—it was all exactly as it had been. Yet she wasn’t the same girl who’d once danced here with her husband. And that, somehow, made it all the more precious.

“Did you really dance here?” Harry asked, his voice quiet. There was something in his expression that made her heart ache—curious, yes, but searching, too. Like he was trying to find something in her story to carry forward for himself.

“All the time,” Lily replied. Her voice had softened, her words almost reverent. “He’d twirl me round right by that fireplace, no music, no shame. Just us. He’d do it just to make me laugh.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the memory wrap round her. The warmth of his hand. His grin. The clumsy way he’d try to dip her and end up nearly knocking over a stool. She could hear it, almost—his whisper in her ear, the teasing, the love.

“I can almost see it,” Harry said, leaning forward on his elbows. “You two. Here.”

She opened her eyes slowly, surprised by the weight in his voice. “We were that couple,” she said, managing a smile. “The ones everyone groaned about but secretly wished they were.”

Her fingers toyed with the rim of her mug.

“After dancing, we’d go out and sit just there—” She nodded to the window, where a small bench sat beneath the hanging baskets of summer flowers. “James would point out stars, make up stories about them. Said every constellation had its own bit of magic, if you listened closely enough.”

Harry said nothing. He didn’t need to.

“He believed in wonder,” Lily went on, more to herself now. “In fate. In love. Said the universe was always writing us into its story if we were brave enough to let it.”

There was a long stillness between them.

“You don’t talk about him much,” Harry said at last.

Lily nodded, her throat tightening. “I know. It used to feel like if I said his name out loud, it might break me all over again.” She paused, glancing up at the flame above them. “But now… now it feels like remembering brings him closer. Not further away.”

Harry didn’t speak. He just reached out and wrapped his fingers gently round hers.

And for a while, they sat there. Mother and son. Past and present. Wrapped in quiet and candlelight and the kind of love that doesn’t fade—even when it hurts.

Lily’s gaze drifted back to the window, her eyes catching the line of tall trees just beyond the square. They stood still and sure, dark against the fading sky—like old friends keeping quiet vigil.

“He said he’d bring our children here one day,” she said quietly, voice soft with memory. “Sit them on the bench outside. Tell them stories under the stars.”

A lump rose in her throat. She blinked hard, willing it away.

Harry’s voice came gently. “And now we’re here.”

She turned to him, heart aching in that old, familiar way—but glowing too, in a way it hadn’t in years. Reaching across the table, she took his hand in both of hers.

“We are,” she said simply.

She held on a moment longer, drawing steadying warmth from his touch. Then, with a breath of quiet amusement, her lips curved.

“This is where he proposed, you know. Right in the middle of supper. Over there—the second table from the fire.”

Harry raised his brows, intrigued. “No way.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, the smile growing. “Didn’t even get down on one knee. He just looked at me—like I was the only thing in the world worth looking at—and said, ‘Marry me, Lily Evans.’ Bold as anything.”

Harry grinned. “That sounds like him.”

“I laughed,” she admitted. “Thought he was joking. But the second I realised he meant it, I said yes. I couldn’t imagine saying anything else.”

For a moment, her thoughts folded in on themselves. She could see it all as clearly as if it had happened yesterday—the way James’s untameable hair stuck up, the way his eyes sparkled when he was up to something, and that grin he wore like it was stitched into him.

She squeezed Harry’s hand gently. “Thank you for bringing me back.”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes said more than words ever could.

And for the first time in so long, the past didn’t feel like something jagged and unfinished. It felt like home.

There was something in the way Harry looked at her that made her chest tighten. A kind of quiet protectiveness—not smothering, but watchful. It was familiar. James had looked at her that way once, when the world outside their door was dark and closing in, and he still insisted everything would be all right.

So much of James lived in Harry. The messy hair, the stubborn set of his jaw, the fire in him that burnt steady and fierce. But there was more than that. He had her too—the gentleness James always used to say was her gift, even when she doubted it.

She watched him now, seeing the boy and the man layered together. How had the years gone so quickly? When had he stopped being that tiny thing who clung to her finger like it was a lifeline?

She remembered that night clearer than most. The nursery was dim and warm. The hush between his cries. The way his head nestled into the crook of her neck. James had come barrelling in, breathless and grinning, clutching a stuffed stag from Diagon Alley.

“Reckon he’ll like this, Lil? I’ve named him Prongs Junior.”

She’d laughed until her cheeks were wet with tears.

A loud stomach growl startled her from her reverie. Harry, looking sheepish.

She laughed, the sound spilling out before she could stop it. “Alright, alright—food’s here. Your dad always said you were like a bear when you were hungry.”

Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “He wasn’t wrong.”

And just like that, the heaviness in her chest lifted.

They tucked into their meal, the table filling with warmth and steam. Rich spices, grilled vegetables, something savoury and slow-cooked. Candlelight flickered across the walls, casting soft glows across the room. It felt safe. Ordinary. Wonderful.

Lily found herself watching Harry between bites—the way his shoulders curled in slightly, like he still carried too much weight. But his eyes were bright. Kind. Present. And when he smiled, she caught a glimpse of that same little boy who used to sneak into their bed at night, dragging his blanket and whispering, Mummy, bad dream.

She’d sung to him in those days, through the thunder and blackouts and distant howls of war.

He’d grown up. But he was still her Harry.

And then it came—music, soft and low, curling through the room like memory.

Her breath caught.

“Oh,” she murmured, eyes widening. “I love this song.”

She leant back slightly, listening as the tune wrapped itself round her like a familiar shawl. Slow, sweet, unassuming. She could almost hear the clink of glasses from a night long past, see James reaching for her hand again, half-laughing as he pulled her to her feet.

“They always played it here,” she said. “I’d forgotten.”

She closed her eyes, letting it carry her. Not back—not entirely—but somewhere quieter. Somewhere whole.

She and James had ducked in that night drenched to the skin, their cloaks sodden and hair dripping, breaths still short from running. They’d been hunted for hours—darting through shadows, hexes flaring behind them—but for one precious hour, the war had melted away. They weren’t fugitives. Just James and Lily, young and in love, soaked through and starving.

They’d shared a single plate of pasta, laughing like children as their forks clashed. The waitress tutted at them more than once. And then, when this very song started playing, James had stood up, grinning like a fool, hair plastered to his forehead, and held out his hand.

“Care for a spin, Mrs Potter?”

She could still see him, as if the memory had been tucked just behind her eyes all this time, waiting to unfurl.

Now, across the table, Harry was watching her. That same steady, searching look—thoughtful, quiet. So much like his father, and yet entirely his own. The music wound its way through the restaurant, soft and familiar.

Then, without a word, he stood and offered her his hand.

“Mum…” he said. “Would you care to dance with me?”

The world stilled.

For a heartbeat, she wasn’t here—not in this warm, candlelit corner of Godric’s Hollow. She was seventeen again, barefoot in the Gryffindor common room, dancing to the wireless while Sirius hooted from the armchair. She was twenty-one, spinning in the kitchen in her dressing gown while baby Harry cackled in his high chair, cheeks covered in porridge. She was in the narrow hall of their cottage, the night before they went into hiding—dancing slowly with James in silence, neither of them daring to speak of what came next.

Time folded. The memories crashed into her all at once, wave upon wave.

Harry’s hand was still there, waiting. So much like James’s. So full of love.

Her breath caught.

“I would be delighted to,” she said, voice wobbling.

She rose carefully, her fingers slipping into his. Together, they stepped into the little open space beside the table—not much of a dance floor, but it didn’t matter. There was room enough.

Harry moved awkwardly, his steps uncertain, one hand hovering as though unsure where it should go. He was clearly no dancer. But that only made it more endearing.

Lily gave a soft laugh, the kind that came from somewhere deep and long-quiet. She placed his hand gently on her waist and guided him with quiet patience, letting the music carry them.

They swayed. That was all. Just a slow, simple sway.

Then, on a whim, she twirled. Once. Her skirt caught the air and floated softly round her knees. Her heart lifted with it. It had been so long since she’d danced. Since she’d allowed herself even a moment of this kind of lightness.

She looked up at Harry.

And that’s when it hit her—the ache. The beautiful, unbearable ache.

He should be here.

James should be standing just beside them, snorting with laughter and clapping Harry on the back, pretending to critique his footwork. He should be catching her hand and spinning her round, wild and breathless, like he always used to.

She felt the burn behind her eyes.

But she smiled anyway.

Because James was here. In the shape of Harry’s hand, in the curve of his grin, and in the quiet strength that lived behind his eyes. Every inch of Harry was threaded with him—with both of them.

The dance wasn’t perfect. It was clumsy, full of missteps. But it was theirs. And that made it perfect in its own way.

The music slowed.

Lily leant in and rested her head lightly against her son’s shoulder. He stiffened for a moment, unsure, then softened and held her just that little bit closer.

For that one golden moment, she let it all fall away. The war. The fear. The grief. She let herself remember how it felt to hold Harry for the first time, how James had looked at them like they were the whole universe in his arms.

She let herself feel.

The song faded. But the moment lingered.

As she stepped back, Lily looked up at her son—and for a second, her heart felt too full to speak.

“You look so much like him,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. Her hands curled together in her lap to keep them from trembling. “Every time I see you, Harry, I see him. And it hurts. Because you’ve grown up so fast… and I missed it. I missed so much.”

Her voice cracked. Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. She blinked hard, but they came anyway—warm and quiet, falling down her cheeks like all the ones she hadn’t let herself cry before now.

Her chest tightened.

All the birthdays that were missed. The stories that were never read. The scrapes she didn’t get to kiss. The lullabies that were never sung. The quiet nights that were never had.

She reached up and brushed her tears away, even as more slipped through.

Then Harry’s arm came around her shoulders, steady and sure, and Lily sank into it without thinking. It was the sort of embrace only a son could give—unspoken, unhurried. The warmth of it wrapped around her, grounding her, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe past the sudden swell of feeling.

Her boy.

No longer the baby she’d rocked to sleep or the toddler who clung to her legs, but a man grown in her absence—shaped by battles she should’ve been there to shield him from.

“I still remember Dad’s laugh,” Harry said quietly, his voice gentle, almost shy—as though afraid the memory might vanish if he spoke too loudly. “Sometimes I think I hear it… like an echo. I don’t know if it’s real or just something I made up. But… it helps.”

Lily’s throat tightened. She pressed closer, letting herself rest against him, her fingers curling into the knit of his jumper like it might anchor her in the now—this impossible, precious now.

“I should’ve been there,” she whispered, the words breaking out before she could hold them back. “I should’ve seen you grow up. Cheered you on, helped you through the hard bits. Not—” she drew a breath, shaking her head, “not hiding away, trapped in regrets and what-ifs.”

Harry said nothing, but his silence didn’t sting. It was soft and steadying. She felt it in the way his hand moved gently across her back—those slow, comforting circles he couldn’t possibly remember her making when he was small.

She swallowed. “You don’t know how many nights I wished I could turn back time. How many dreams I had where I reached out for you and…” Her voice faltered. “And woke up alone.”

He turned to look at her, his green eyes—her eyes—shining with a kind of sadness that wasn’t sharp, just deep. Understanding.

“Please,” she breathed, her voice catching, “please try to forgive me.”

Harry’s exhale was long and slow—like something old and weighty had just left his chest.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Mum,” he said. And the way he said—‘Mum’—soft, sure—made something crack open inside her, gently. “You did what you could. You survived. We both did. That’s enough.”

She wanted to believe him. Merlin, she did. And maybe she could.

“We have time now,” he added. “Let’s use it.”

The words wrapped round her like a promise.

Lily nodded, though the ache in her chest hadn’t quite eased. This was meant to be a simple afternoon—just her and Harry, no war, no ghosts, just sunlight and a shared plate of food in a quiet Godric’s Hollow pub. But grief was like ivy. It crept in, no matter how warm the light.

She reached for a napkin and dabbed at her face, wiping away the smeared lines of mascara. She didn’t want him to remember her like this—eyes red, voice trembling, so far from the picture of the mother she wanted to be. She wanted to be strong. Someone he could lean on. Someone who made him laugh.

When she looked up again, Harry was watching her, brow furrowed just slightly, like he could see the fight going on behind her eyes.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said, gently. Not a suggestion, exactly—more a kindness. “It’s a nice day. Too nice to stay indoors.”

She managed a smile.

He stood and offered his arm like a gentleman, and she looped hers through it without hesitation. Her hand settled lightly at his back, and as they stepped out into the sunshine, the breeze met them with a soft, cool touch. It brushed against her cheeks like a whisper, and Lily closed her eyes for a moment, letting it steady her.

The sky above was wide and blue, dappled with cotton clouds. Somewhere in the trees beyond the village, birds were singing.

And—for the first time in a long while—she could breathe.

They walked in companionable silence, their footsteps crunching lightly on gravel and earth. But the quiet wasn’t empty. It was full. Full of everything they didn’t need to say. Every step felt like a thread, stitching something old and frayed back together.

Lily glanced at him as they walked. He was taller than James had ever been. Broader in the shoulders. But there was still something in his face—the curve of his brow, the slant of his jaw—that made her heart ache.

She could still see the little boy he’d once been. The one who toddled across carpets on chubby legs, who’d press his hands to the window when it rained, and cry when the thunder came too close.

Her Harry.

He’d grown up into everything she’d ever hoped for—and more.

“Did you know this village is where some of the greatest witches and wizards were born?” Harry said after a while, his voice lighter now, tinged with that dry humour of his. “Including a fairly well-known one. Bloke named Harry Potter.”

Lily let out a soft laugh, caught off guard by the gentle warmth it sent blooming through her chest. “Is that so?”

Harry flashed a crooked grin. “Legend says he was brave, stubborn to a fault, had a bit of a temper—and a mother who loved him more than anything else in the world.”

She stopped walking. He did too, immediately, turning to face her.

Lily reached up, brushing his fringe aside with careful fingers. Her hand trembled just slightly as it hovered over the lightning-bolt scar, faded but never forgotten.

“That much,” she whispered. “And more.”

For a heartbeat, they simply stood there, sunlight spilling across the lane and painting the grass in gold. Somewhere in the hedgerow, a bird called. The breeze smelt of honeysuckle and far-off woodsmoke.

“I think,” Lily said, her voice low and certain, “the real magic isn’t in wands or spells. It’s in this. Right now. Just… being with you.”

Harry’s smile softened. “I was thinking the same thing.”

She leaned her head gently against his shoulder as they walked on. His arm brushed against hers, solid and warm. And though grief still lived inside her—it always would—something else had taken root alongside it.

Something softer. Something glowing.

Hope.

They wandered further down the path, past ivy-laced fences and crooked garden gates, past cottages with moss on the roof and lace at the windows. Godric’s Hollow hadn’t changed much. Time moved slowly here.

As they walked, Lily found herself talking in a way she hadn’t done for years. Stories tumbled out of her, half-laughed memories of her own childhood, of the mischief and madness that had shaped the girl she’d once been.

She spoke of sneaking into the Hogwarts kitchens with James in the dead of night to “liberate” treacle tarts. Of snowball ambushes with Sirius and Remus, spells flying like fireworks across the courtyard. Of the time she’d enchanted her shoes to dance on their own and spent an entire Potions class trying to pin them down with her wand while Slughorn looked on, thoroughly amused.

Harry laughed, properly laughed, the kind of laugh that started low in the belly and ended in a wheeze. The sound of it filled her chest like sunlight spilling through a window she hadn’t dared open in years.

And just like that, the weight she’d been carrying—every fear, every moment of guilt and doubt—seemed to lift.

Because in that moment, she wasn’t a ghost of a war long past. She wasn’t the mother who had missed too much.

She was simply his mother.

Walking beside her son.

Listening to him laugh.

And for once, that was enough.