The soft chime of the bell above the door barely registered in Harry's ears. Another customer had entered Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, but inside the tiny table where he sat with his mother, it felt like they were sealed off from the rest of the world. The air was thick—too warm, too sweet with the scent of tea and pastries—and it clashed horribly with the tension between them.
Harry shifted in his seat, the wooden chair suddenly uncomfortable beneath him. The last time he'd been here, he'd sat beside Cho Chang, awkwardly holding hands, cheeks burning with the thrill of young affection. That felt like a lifetime ago. Now, the shop's tinkling music and cosy atmosphere only made the silence between him and his mother feel colder. He couldn't remember ever feeling this far away from her—even though she sat just inches across the table.
Lily stared out the window, her fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against the tabletop. Her eyes were distant, fixed on the busy street outside, where couples laughed and friends strolled by without a care in the world. Harry followed her gaze, searching for something—anything—that might distract from the dread curling in his stomach. But all he saw were reminders of everything he'd messed up.
"Mum," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. The word felt fragile in his mouth, like it might shatter if he spoke it too loud. It carried guilt, sorrow, and a desperate need to make things right.
She inhaled slowly, then turned toward him, her face hardening. She didn't meet his eyes. "The meeting was a disaster, Harry. The Chief Auror is furious. Do you understand what you've done? This isn't just about you. It affects me—my job, my reputation, and the safety of the entire department. I can't protect you from this."
Her words struck like a slap, sharper than he'd braced for. Harry's insides twisted. He wanted to go back—undo what had happened, stop himself from interfering before everything unravelled. He should've noticed the way she'd looked at him that morning—tense, distracted, the folder tucked under her arm like a weight she didn't want him to see.
"I… I know I messed up," he said, his voice low and tight. "I'm sorry. I never meant to drag you into it. I wasn't thinking."
Lily's expression didn't soften. If anything, her shoulders stiffened, and when she spoke again, her voice had an edge to it. "Do you even realise how humiliating this is for me?"
Harry flinched. That hurt more than he expected. Her disappointment dug deeper than any punishment ever could.
He looked down at his hands. "I do," he said quietly. "I really do. I regret it more than you know."
The words sat there between them like broken glass—too sharp to pick up, too painful to ignore. The silence stretched, long and stifling. Harry could feel it pressing in around him like the air had thickened. He wanted her to forgive him. He wanted her to see that he understood. But she just sat there, eyes back on the window, lost in her own storm of thoughts.
Then, as if trying to escape the heaviness herself, she gave a small sigh and said, "So. What else have you been up to?"
The sudden shift jarred him. He scrambled for something to say, something safe. "Er—Ron's brothers opened a shop. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, in Diagon Alley. I was there this morning helping out."
Lily didn't react. Not a nod, not a smile.
"They've come up with some really clever stuff," he added, hoping to catch her interest. "They made this snack that makes your voice go all squeaky—like a mouse. It's hilarious."
"Oh, how amusing," she said flatly, her tone so empty it might as well have been a shrug.
Harry's heart sank. He knew she was still upset, and part of him understood why. But he'd hoped—even for a moment—that she'd want to share something with him, that they could find a way back to each other, even through a laugh.
"They're brilliant, honestly," he tried again, quieter this time. "They've worked so hard."
But she wasn't really listening. Her eyes were fixed on a couple just outside the window—a young pair holding hands, smiling like the world didn't know sorrow. The light from outside caught her face, and Harry thought she looked older in that moment, worn thin by everything that had passed between them.
"It's great, Harry. Really," she murmured without looking at him.
The hollowness in her voice hit him like a cold wind. He lowered his gaze to the table, tracing the edge of the lace tablecloth with his finger. The pattern curled and looped beneath his touch, delicate and precise—nothing like the mess inside his head. He wanted to say something else, something meaningful, but every word he thought of seemed to dissolve before it reached his lips.
He felt like he was standing on a tightrope between them, wobbling, afraid to fall. She was just out of reach. And no matter how hard he tried to close the distance, something kept pulling her further away.
The soft melody floated in the background, but it barely touched the space between them. It felt like music meant for someone else—someone whole. Someone happy.
Golden light spilt from the chandelier, warming the room, but Harry only felt cold. The kind of cold that settled in your bones. The kind that came from standing too long in the shadow of someone you loved who couldn't quite love you back the way you needed.
He glanced toward the couples swaying to the rhythm—fingers laced, heads leaned close. A world away from him. He felt like a ghost here, watching something beautiful through glass he couldn't break.
And then, unbidden, came the memory—bright and haunting. His dad lifting Lily off her feet in the park, both of them laughing under the sun. Harry had never seen it in real life, but it lived in his imagination, stitched together from photos, stories, and wishes. Lily's laugh, in that dream-memory, sounded like sunlight—pure and easy.
His heart clenched.
He turned to her, the words rising up before he could second-guess them. "Would you like to dance with me?"
It was the smallest offering. A thread. A plea.
Her eyes met his, and for a moment he thought—maybe.
Then, "When have you ever seen me dance?"
The words landed like ice water. Not cruel. Not loud. Just cold. Dismissive. Final.
Harry's breath caught. It wasn't just rejection—it was a reminder. A reminder of every time he'd tried to reach out and found nothing waiting on the other side. The fragile hope in his chest cracked a little more.
He rocked back on his heels, as if the ground had shifted. The music kept playing, but it might as well have stopped.
He scrambled for something—anything—to keep the moment from collapsing entirely. "What did you do after the meeting?"
She didn't even blink. "I walked the city. Thought about things."
Her voice was a closed door.
"What were you thinking about?" he asked, pressing gently, trying to find a way in.
She hesitated. Then, "You."
The word hit him like a breath of warm air in winter. Not enough to thaw him—but enough to make him want to believe.
"This morning was difficult," she said. "And the meeting made it worse. But in the lift, I ran into an old man. He talked about how we never really lose our connections—not fully. Even when people drift. Even when things are… strained."
She looked down. "It made me think of you."
Harry watched her fingers as they twisted in her lap. He wanted to reach out. He didn't.
"You're still important to me," she said softly. "Even when I don't say it right."
Still important. Not loved. Not seen. Just important.
"I want us to keep trying," she continued. "I want to believe we can fix this obstacle."
Harry stared at her, the words crashing around in his mind. Fix this. Like their relationship was a faulty object that could be patched up with glue and patience.
His voice came quiet, trembling. "What do you mean by 'obstacles'?"
She didn't answer at first. Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.
Then he asked it—the question that had haunted him for years, now spoken aloud like a wound torn open: "Am I one of them? One of your obstacles?"
Lily's arms were folded across her chest. Her face tightened. Not in anger—but in exhaustion. In defeat.
"You have no idea how hard this has been," she said. "Trying to be both parents. Trying to raise you and still be… me. Do you think that's easy, Harry?"
He felt like something had split inside him.
"Of course I know it's hard," he whispered. "But I never wanted to be a burden. I've tried to make things easier. I don't complain. I follow your lead. I do everything you ask. I just… I just want to be enough."
His throat was burning now. "I want to make you proud. I want to make Dad proud. Isn't that what you want, too?"
Her expression flickered—just for a second. Something soft. Then gone again.
"Your father…" Her voice wavered. "He would've known what to do. He always did."
Harry took a step back like he'd been slapped.
He'd spent his whole life chasing a ghost. A man he couldn't remember but was still expected to live up to. And now, here it was—confirmation. He wasn't James. He wasn't enough. Not for her.
He looked down at his hands, his voice shaking. "Do you even see me? Or do you just see what's missing?"
Lily's mouth opened, but no words came.
Harry's breath hitched, his heart pounding so loudly it hurt. "I wake up every day trying to be someone you won't regret. I do everything to keep the peace because I'm afraid—afraid that if I don't, you'll leave too. Maybe not physically, but emotionally. And some days… I think you already have."
Her face went pale.
"I'm right here," he said. "I'm your son. But sometimes I feel like I'm a shadow you're trying to outrun."
Silence fell again, deeper now. Not empty—but full. Full of everything unsaid. Full of love buried under grief and expectation and years of distance.
And Harry stood there, heart wide open, wondering if this time she'd step through the door he'd left unlocked for her—again.
The tension in the air was sharp enough to cut. Then her voice broke through—cold, clipped. "Your father would be disappointed in the person you've become," Lily said. "You're not strong enough. Not focused. You need to do better. You're falling short."
Harry stiffened. "That's not fair," he said tightly. "I am trying. I've been pushing myself every single day—"
"Then push harder," she interrupted, her voice rising. "Stop making excuses. Stop acting like the world owes you something."
"Is that really how you see me?" he asked, pain threading through his voice. "Like some spoilt child chasing pity? I've worked for everything I have—my marks, my progress—it's all me. I earn it."
"Marks aren't the measure of your worth," Lily snapped. "Real life isn't about grades and trophies. It's about character. About choices."
Harry's heart thudded painfully in his chest. "You think I haven't tried to make the right choices?"
She leaned forward, her eyes burning. "Trying isn't enough anymore. People are dying, Harry. And you—you still spend your time wallowing, avoiding what matters. You have no idea what's at stake."
"I do!" he shouted, the words cracking from his throat. "You think I don't carry that weight? I feel it every time I close my eyes! But I can't be everything to everyone—I'm not him!"
Her face froze. "Don't you dare—"
"I'm not Dad," Harry said, softer now. "And I never will be. But that doesn't mean I'm worthless."
Lily stared at him, her mouth trembling. For a long second, neither of them spoke. Then her voice broke, rough and aching. "Do you think I don't know you're not him? Do you think I don't feel that difference every single day I wake up and he's still gone?"
The crack in her voice startled him. Her eyes shimmered, and suddenly she looked… tired. Wounded.
"He died for you," she said, softer now, but the pain was sharp in every word. "He gave everything for you. And I—I don't know how to live in a world without him. I look at you, and I see echoes of what I lost. And sometimes… sometimes it's too much."
Harry's breath caught. "I'm not trying to replace him, Mum. I just want to matter to you."
Tears welled up in his eyes. "Why can't you see what I'm trying to do? I'm not perfect, but I'm trying. I do everything with you in mind. All I want—all I've ever wanted—is for you to be proud of me."
Lily's hands trembled on the table. She looked away for a second, then back at him, her expression caught in a war between regret and pride.
"I do," she said, her voice shaking. "You're brave. Smarter than you think. But it hurts, Harry. Every time I see you, it reminds me of what I lost. I know that's not fair to you. But grief doesn't care about fairness."
Harry blinked, stunned by her honesty. For a moment, it felt like something between them had cracked open—and maybe there was space for something to grow.
But then the silence returned, thick and awkward. "You forgot the assembly," he said after a moment, quietly. "You didn't even try to talk to my friends. It's like… you're not really here."
Lily flinched. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I've been distant. I just—sometimes it's easier to be Auror Lily than Mum. Because Mum still wakes up wishing she could hear his voice again."
"I miss him too," Harry said, voice raw. "But I'm still here. And I need you to see me."
She nodded, tears finally falling down her cheeks. "You're right. I've failed you in ways I didn't even realise."
His own tears slipped free, quiet and endless. "I don't want to fight. I just want one day—one day where we laugh and talk and remember who we are. That's all."
She looked at him—really looked—and her expression shifted to something softer. Regret. Love. Maybe even guilt.
"I want that too," she said.
Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. But then he remembered something—fragile hope trying to hold on.
"I saw you earlier. At Quality Quidditch Supplies. What were you doing there?"
Lily frowned. "Work."
Harry froze.
He wanted to ask her more, but that single word did it.
"I should go," he said instead, standing slowly. His voice was quiet, but not angry—just tired.
"Harry—" she started, but he shook his head gently, blinking back more tears.
"I just—"
He had lost all hope. He didn't know what else to say. He turned, heart aching, and walked away—grief and hope tangled together, pulling at him in equal measure.
The door closed with a soft chime as Harry left, and Lily sat frozen in her seat, staring at the empty space where her son had been.
Her hands, still resting on the table, felt cold. She hadn't realised they were shaking until now.
Around her, the quiet clatter of plates and low hum of conversation filled the restaurant again—as if the world had never paused. As if her son hadn't just walked out with tears in his eyes.
What have I done?
She inhaled slowly, pressing her fingers to her temples, trying to steady the throb building behind her eyes. The fight played over in her mind again—the trembling voice, the pain behind every word, the storm in his eyes.
"I just want to matter to you."
Lily closed her eyes.
You do, she wanted to whisper into the silence. You always have.
But she hadn't said it when it mattered.
Instead, she'd lashed out—throwing her pain like daggers, as if hurting him might somehow dull the ache in her own chest. As if grief gave her permission to wound the one person who needed her most.
She'd seen it. In the way his shoulders slumped. In the way his hands trembled beneath the table. In the way he'd looked at her—pleading, breaking.
She should've reached across the table. She should've told him how proud she was. How much he reminded her of James—not because of what he did, but because of who he was. Brave. Stubborn. Kind.
But she hadn't. And now he was gone.
Lily swallowed against the lump rising in her throat.
All those years of putting walls around her heart—burying herself in work, convincing herself that stoicism was strength. She thought she was protecting him. Teaching him to be resilient. Preparing him for a world that didn't care.
But maybe… all he ever needed was his mother.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to no one. Her voice cracked. "I'm so sorry."
A waitress walked by and glanced at her, politely ignoring the tears slipping down her cheeks. Lily didn't bother wiping them away.
She'd failed him. Not in some grand, catastrophic way. But in the quiet, ordinary ways that mattered most. Missed moments. Unspoken words. The absence of warmth when he needed it.
The saddest part? She still didn't know how to fix it.
But she wanted to.
And maybe that was the first step.
The calming hum of the café shattered in an instant. The music cut off, replaced by a tense, unnatural silence. Conversations died mid-sentence. Chairs scraped. People blinked, glanced around, confused—until all eyes turned toward the window.
Lily followed their gaze, dread crawling up her spine.
Outside, chaos had erupted just beyond the glass. She froze, staring at the scene unfolding like a nightmare. People were running, shouting, and scattering in every direction. Shadows flickered at the edge of her vision, jerky and fast. Something was happening—something wrong. The sharp cracks of spells rang out, cruel and sudden, followed by screams that tore through the air. The fear in the atmosphere was almost physical. Lily could feel it in her lungs, heavy like smoke.
Stay inside, her brain whispered. You'll be safe here.
But her body had already moved. She stood, heart hammering, eyes locked on the chaos just outside. Then a scream split the air—close, raw. She flinched.
The door burst open. A man stumbled in, pale and panting, clothes torn, eyes wide.
"There's been an attack!" he gasped. "It's mayhem out there!"
His voice trembled with panic, and the words seemed to knock the breath from Lily's chest. She looked around—people frozen, fear etched into their faces like portraits of shock. In that moment, they were united in their terror. But Lily felt something else brewing in her.
She couldn't sit and wait. She couldn't just watch.
Before she knew it, she was at the door, hand on the handle. Her breath caught as she flung it open and stepped into the storm.
The street had changed—twisted into a war zone. Spells flashed like lightning. Smoke curled in the air. She saw them—Death Eaters—moving through the madness in dark cloaks that whipped in the wind, faces hidden, but their menace unmistakable.
Lily's stomach turned, but she gripped her wand tighter, forcing herself to stay grounded. You trained for this,she reminded herself. Now act like it.
Then she saw her—Bellatrix Lestrange.
A flash of that wild, gleeful grin, then a laugh—high, cold, unhinged—pierced through the street like a curse. Bellatrix vanished into the shadows before Lily could react. Her blood ran cold.
Don't stop. Don't you dare freeze.
With a breath that burnt her throat, Lily pushed forward, legs pumping, shoes slapping the pavement. Her pulse thundered in her ears. As she turned a corner, her momentum faltered.
Someone was lying on the ground.
Lily's heart skipped.
She slowed, inching closer, eyes locked on the figure. They were gasping and curled slightly, clearly in pain. Every part of her screamed to run to them—but her legs felt heavy.
She dropped to her knees.
"No…"
The face came into view—messy black hair, too familiar. A smear of blood. And then those eyes—green, terrified, and full of pain—met hers.
Her chest caved inward. She couldn't breathe.
"Harry…" she whispered.
The name barely passed her lips before she broke.
"No!" she cried, louder now, desperation cracking her voice apart. "Harry, oh, Merlin—no! Please, no!"
Tears stung her eyes, blurring the world, as the truth of the moment crashed into her like a wave.
Harry's face gleamed with sweat, tiny beads clinging to his skin as his body shook. Each breath came in a broken gasp. "Mum?"
Lily's world splintered. That voice—thin, afraid—stabbed straight through her. Her son, calling for her in a voice she hadn't heard since he was small. She blinked hard, pushing back tears. She had to stay strong. He needed her steady.
"I'm here," she whispered. She clutched his hand tightly in hers. His skin was clammy, and his pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. "I'm right here, Harry. I'm not going anywhere."
He cried out, his body convulsing. His hands flew to his side, where a gleaming silver dagger jutted from his ribs. The runes carved into its blade shimmered with a sickly green light, pulsing with dark energy. The magic in it crackled against the air—old, vicious, laced with intent.
Lily's stomach lurched. This wasn't just dark magic. This was a curse—layered, tangled, alive. She could feel the way it twisted into Harry's magic, poisoning it.
"Mum!" Harry screamed again, his back arching in agony. His fingers dug into the ground as his legs kicked out. Her grip on his hand tightened. She couldn't let him go—not even for a second.
"I know it hurts," she said, her voice thick with grief. She brushed damp hair from his forehead, then let her hand linger against his cheek. "But I have to get the knife out, Harry. I have to. And it's going to hurt, but then we can fight it. I promise you."
The cursed dagger throbbed, a low vibration echoing through the ground beneath them. Runes on the blade rearranged themselves before her eyes, warping into shapes she didn't recognise. She had seen dark artefacts before—but this one reeked of intent.
She ground her teeth. Of course.
"I can't," Harry whimpered, voice cracking. His eyes—green, brilliant even now—glimmered with terror. "I can't breathe…"
"Yes, you can," Lily said fiercely. "You've faced worse than this. Just look at me. Focus on me."
She moved her wand into her right hand, the tip glowing softly. "I'll pull it out on three, alright? And then I'll start healing. Just hold on."
Harry nodded, just barely.
"One…"
The cursed runes flared.
"Two…"
"Three."
She yanked the dagger free.
Harry's scream ripped through the air, raw and primal. It wasn't just pain—it was magic reacting violently, tearing through him. The curse surged outward in a blast of force, throwing Lily back several inches and knocking the wind from her chest.
The dagger clattered to the ground. The runes glowed bright one final time—then went out.
"Harry!" Lily crawled back to him, wand glowing. She pressed her hands to the wound, feeling heat and darkness pulsing beneath the skin. "Vulnera Sanentur," she chanted, over and over, pushing healing magic through her palms.
Golden light spilt from her wand and into the wound—but it sputtered against the dark curse rooted in his flesh. It resisted her, slithered away from the light like smoke. Lily gritted her teeth and tried again. "Vulnera Sanentur… Vulnera Sanentur…"
Blood still poured from the wound. Her magic slowed it but couldn't stop it.
Harry's body convulsed again. He coughed violently—wet, deep. A moment later, blood speckled his lips. His chest heaved as he gasped for air.
"No—no, no, no—" Lily's voice broke. She guided his head gently to her lap and cast another spell. "Pulmo Purus!" Light surged from her wand, briefly illuminating his chest, but again the curse twisted, fought, and burnt through her work.
She was losing him.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she tried a different spell—one older, buried in her memory from long-ago duelling classes. "Sanguis Claudatur!" Her wand trembled in her grip as red light shot into the wound, sealing a small rupture. One. Just one. But it was something.
Harry's eyes fluttered open again. "I'm sorry," he rasped, voice barely a breath.
Her heart clenched.
"Don't be," she whispered fiercely, cradling his face in her hands. "You hold on. You hear me? You keep fighting. You are not leaving me."
Harry convulsed with another brutal cough, the sound tearing through the still night like broken glass.
"Please, sweetheart," Lily choked, her voice no more than a trembling whisper. "Just breathe… Just stay with me…"
She stared down at him—her little boy, pale and shaking, his face twisted in pain no child should ever feel. His green eyes, once so bright with life and mischief, shimmered now with fear and apology.
"I'm… sorry," he rasped, the words barely making it past his cracked lips. It was so faint, so broken, Lily almost missed it. His hand reached for hers, trembling, weak—yet he held on with everything he had left.
"No, my love," she whispered back, gripping his hand like it was the only thing anchoring her to the world. "Don't you dare apologise. You're going to be okay. I swear it."
But she was lying—and she knew it. The truth clawed at her throat like a scream she couldn't release.
Harry's body trembled violently. His eyelids fluttered, struggling against the pull of unconsciousness.
"Harry," she pleaded, brushing his sweat-matted hair from his forehead. "Look at me. Keep your eyes open. Please…"
She cast another healing spell, her wand shaking in her hand. The light flickered and died, just like the last one. None of them worked. None of them ever had.
She'd practised. She'd prepared. She'd promised herself she would be ready if it came to this.
But it wasn't enough.
Nothing was enough.
"I'm here," she breathed, lowering herself beside him, her hands cradling his broken body as if that alone could keep his soul from slipping away. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."
"Mum," Harry whispered, his voice thinner than air. His eyes darted up to meet hers, unfocused and full of pain. "I… I'm not… strong enough."
"No." The word was ripped from her throat. "No, you don't get to say that. You're strong. You're so strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever known."
Her voice cracked. She didn't know if she was speaking to him or trying to convince herself.
Because he was fading.
She could see it.
His chest rose, barely. His lips parted in another whisper, but no sound came. The pain was dragging him down, pulling him under.
And Lily—Lily was powerless to stop it.
"Stay with me," she begged, her tears falling freely now, soaking into his skin. "Don't leave me, Harry. Please. Please…"
She rocked him gently, like she used to when he was small and scared of the thunder.
But this storm was so much worse.
And he wasn't scared anymore—he was slipping away.
Then, through the blur of tears, his eyes opened again. Just a sliver.
He looked at her with the last flicker of light in him. "I love you, Mum," he whispered, the words broken and hoarse—but real.
His voice wrapped around her heart like a thread, pulling it apart.
"I love you too," she gasped, cradling his face in both hands. "More than anything. More than life."
She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, and his cold fingers. "You're my world, Harry. You always have been."
And then—he smiled. Just a little. Just enough.
And he was gone.
"No…" Lily whispered. It didn't feel real. It couldn't be. "No. No. No, please. Harry…"
She shook his shoulders gently, then harder, her hands trembling. "Wake up. Baby, wake up. Come back to me. You can't leave me. You can't…"
But his body was still.
Too still.
Time fractured around her. The silence was deafening, like the world had stopped spinning just to mock her grief.
She stared at him in her arms—her son, her little boy—gone.
The gentle rise and fall of his chest… stilled.
His eyes… closed forever.
And with that, the light went out of her world.
Lily clutched his hand, pressing it to her lips, her cheeks, and her heart. Desperately. Desperately. As if love could reverse death. As if the sheer force of her agony could breathe life back into him.
But the silence gave nothing back.
"I can bring him back," Lily whispered, barely hearing her own voice over the pounding of her heart. The thought bloomed in her chest, fragile but burning. She had to believe it. She had to try. Her fingers shook as they closed around her wand, gripping it like a lifeline. The familiar weight grounded her, if only for a second.
With tears clouding her vision, she began chanting every healing spell she could remember, each word quivering on her tongue, soaked in desperation and love. Her voice trembled but didn't stop, wrapping around her like a plea. She poured every part of herself into it—her magic, her fear, her hope.
But then—
A hand touched her shoulder.
Gentle. Steady. Real.
She flinched and turned. An old man stood there, his face worn by time, eyes filled with something deep—regret, maybe, or knowing. His presence was quiet, but firm, like an anchor in the middle of a storm.
"There's nothing more you can do," he said, voice soft as falling leaves. "He's gone."
"No!" The word burst out of her. It didn't feel like denial—it was truth, her truth. Her hands tightened around her wand. "I can heal him. I always can. He just needs more time—one more spell—please—"
But the air was too still. Too cold. Something in it told her the truth she couldn't bear.
Her breath caught in her throat. Still, she shook her head, refusing to let go of the tiny flame inside her. "No. No, I can fix this. He's strong. He's my baby…"
The man kept his hand on her, grounding her, steadying her. "It's too late."
His words cut deeper than any curse. They echoed inside her like bells tolling for the end.
"No!" Her scream cracked open the silence, full of pain, full of defiance. "Don't say that! I can save him—I have to—"
She tried to pull away, her limbs shaking with grief and magic and fury. Her eyes were locked on Harry, searching for any sign—anything. A flicker of breath. A twitch. A miracle. She'd give anything. Anything.
One more spell. Just one more. Maybe if she loved him enough. Maybe if she gave him everything that was left in her.
But the truth slipped in anyway, quiet and cruel.
The silence didn't lie.
The old man watched her crumble, his eyes dim with sorrow, and slowly shook his head. "He's gone," he said again, barely louder than a breath.
She stared at him, then back at Harry.
And something inside her broke.
A scream tore from her lips, raw and ragged. Her wand fell from her fingers. Her body folded in on itself, as if collapsing under the weight of what could never be undone. Tears streamed down her face, hot and endless, soaking the ground where her boy lay.
Each tear felt like a piece of her soul leaving her.
Her hands reached for his; cold and still. She wrapped her fingers around his, clinging to the illusion of life. He was just here. He had smiled at her. He had lived.
"Please," she whispered, voice shaking. "Please come back."
But the silence didn't change. It only deepened, wrapping around her like a shroud.
Her heart beat hollow in her chest. Her body trembled as the weight of her grief settled in, cold and unrelenting.
She didn't know how to breathe without him. Didn't know how to keep going in a world that dared to go on without his laughter in it.
So she stayed there—curled beside him, her tears falling for the boy she had loved more than anything, for the future that had been stolen, and for the dreams that would never come true.
And in that still, shattering silence, she held his hand and wept for a world without him.