Lily sat frozen in her apartment, her body hunched forward as if bracing against a blow that had already landed. Tears streaked her face, but she barely noticed. Her eyes, red and unfocused, stayed fixed on the rain sliding down the windowpane in long, lazy lines. She wasn't really looking at anything. Just… existing. Floating in the numb haze of shock.
How had everything changed so fast?
Only yesterday, the apartment had been full of life. Harry's energy—so warm, so him—had poured into every corner. His humming from the kitchen, the thump of his feet on the floorboards, and the clatter of dishes as he made yet another meal. It had all been chaos, noise, warmth. And now—nothing. The silence was unbearable. Every breath felt like a betrayal of what used to be.
How did it all vanish in one night?
Lily's gaze stayed on the glass. The raindrops blurred her reflection until she could barely recognise herself. Her own face looked hollow. As if the soul had been scraped out and all that remained was the shell of a mother with no one left to mother.
The tears didn't stop, but she didn't wipe them away either. They slid down like the rain, slowly and endlessly. She watched the droplets weave paths down the glass—splitting, merging, and falling. Just like her thoughts. Just like her life.
In her mind, the memories stirred again, uninvited and cruel. Harry was absorbed in the book that he was reading. Harry played with his owl, stroking her feathers and giving her treats. She had scolded him a lot. But inside, her heart had glowed just from seeing him happy. Seeing him alive.
Now the apartment felt like nothing. Empty. Stale. As if joy itself had packed up and left with him.
She shifted in her chair, but it didn't help. The ache in her chest was too deep to move away from. Her limbs felt heavy, useless. Everything she used to care about—her job, her plans, her routines—felt distant and ridiculous now. Like someone else's life. She was going through the motions, but she wasn't really there.
She hadn't been outside in a day. The city below her window moved on without her—cars honking, people laughing, life pushing forward. But Lily remained stuck. Time hadn't stopped, not really. But hers had. Ever since that moment. That night. That painful scream. That truth she refused to acknowledge.
No matter how many times she replayed the scene, they didn't make sense. Harry couldn't be gone. He was hers. Her boy. Her heart. She had already lost James—wasn't that enough? Hadn't she given enough?
Why? She screamed in her mind, over and over. Why him? Why not me?
Her hands clenched the fabric of her robe. It was the only way she could stay grounded, keep from slipping into that terrifying void inside her.
She wanted to believe this was a nightmare, that she'd wake up to his messy hair and crooked grin. That he'd walk through the front door, shrugging off his robe and laughing about something silly. She wanted to believe he was still coming home.
But she knew better. And the knowing crushed her.
The questions wouldn't stop. They attacked her in waves, cruel and relentless. Why did he leave angry? Why couldn't I stop him? Did he know I loved him? Did I tell him enough? Did I tell him at all?
She leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands. Her chest tightened, and her shoulders shook. Every sob echoed in the stillness, sharp and raw. The pain was so big it didn't fit inside her. It spilt out, soaking into the walls, the floor, the very air.
She thought she had cried everything out—but the tears kept coming, fed by guilt and longing and the crushing sense that she had failed him.
She slowly went upstairs. Eventually, her legs gave out beneath her, and she slid to the floor in front of Harry's closed bedroom door. Her back hit the wood with a dull thud. She didn't even flinch.
The door was cold. Solid. Untouched. Like a tomb.
Her hands pressed against her face, fingers trembling. She couldn't bring herself to open it—not yet. It felt like crossing a line she couldn't come back from. As long as the door stayed shut, she could pretend he was still inside. Just asleep. Just quiet.
Her mind drifted again. To their last words. Their last fight.
He'd walked away angry. She'd let him. She hadn't followed. And now—now there was no second chance.
Lily let her head fall gently against the door, her breath hitching.
Did you know, Harry? Did you know how proud I was of you? How much I loved you, even when we fought?
She sat there for a long time, lost in the rhythm of the rain and the beat of her broken heart. The apartment around her felt like a museum now—full of relics and silence and absence.
At last, she wiped her face. The motion was slow, mechanical. But there was a sliver of resolve in it.
She owed it to him. To say goodbye properly. To remember him not with fear, but with love.
With a hand that still trembled, Lily reached for the doorknob. Her palm lingered on the metal. She took a breath that felt like it scraped against her ribs and gently turned it.
The door creaked.
She pushed it open, just an inch.
And for the first time since the world had fallen apart, she stepped into the space where he had last felt real.
The room pulled at her heart the moment she stepped inside. It was simple, but full of pieces that told Harry's story—his favourite Quidditch team, magical creatures, a Gryffindor banner that fluttered slightly in the soft breeze from the window. It felt like stepping into a memory. Warm, familiar, and aching.
This was his space. His refuge. His life, carved into small, ordinary details.
The bed stood neatly made, its maroon blanket perfectly in place. It looked warm and safe, like it had cradled him through long nights. Her eyes moved to the window, where sunlight slanted through the velvet curtains and touched the wooden floor in golden streaks. Across the room, a wardrobe stood with its door slightly open, clothes barely tucked away—as if he'd rushed through his morning without thinking.
Lily's chest tightened.
She slowly looked around, her eyes catching on the mess of notebooks and quills scattered across the desk. It wasn't just clutter—it was Harry. His thoughts, his dreams, the things he scribbled down when no one was watching. Each item was a quiet part of him, and it made her ache with a tenderness she hadn't expected.
Then she saw Hedwig, curled up in her cage, white feathers puffed around her head, fast asleep. Her presence made Lily pause. That owl had always been more than a pet—she was Harry's constant. His first real friend. The loyalty in that bond was something Lily felt deep in her soul.
She stepped further in, slow and unsure, and sat gently on the edge of the bed. The air felt thick, almost sacred. Like the walls themselves held every laugh, every tear, and every whispered thought Harry had ever let out in the quiet.
She wasn't ready to be here. Not really. But here she was.
Her gaze fell on the desk again—this time to a single photograph in a frame. She didn't need to look closely to know what it was. She and James, dancing in the park on their wedding day. She could still feel the warmth of the sun, hear the breeze rustling the trees, and feel James' hands around her waist. Their laughter, their song, the way they'd spun in circles until they were dizzy—it all came back in a rush.
She smiled.
But it didn't last. The smile faded just as quickly as it came, replaced by a sharp, cold twist in her chest.
Harry had asked her to dance last night.
Just a small, sweet moment. His eyes were so hopeful, his smile so sincere—and she'd turned away. She'd said no. Not out of cruelty, but because her mind had been drowning in fear, confusion, and guilt. She hadn't been able to see past it. And the look on his face when she refused… it had haunted her all night.
Now, staring at the photo of her and James, she couldn't help but wonder—had Harry looked at it after she left the room? Had it made him feel even more alone?
Her throat tightened.
"Harry… my son," she whispered, voice trembling. "I'm so sorry."
The words broke something open inside her. Her eyes filled with tears, heavy with everything she wished she could undo.
Her eyes landed on the old leather journal sticking out of the drawer. She had gifted it for Harry's thirteenth birthday, hoping he would fill it with adventures, dreams, and all the things he kept tucked inside his heart. The velvet cover was slightly frayed now, but the initials—H.J.P.—still stood bold against the dark mahogany.
Lily reached for it slowly, her breath catching. She remembered the way he'd looked at her when she gave it to him—eyes bright, smile soft, as if the gift held endless possibilities. She could almost hear him now, voice low and full of wonder. Like he was still with her.
Her fingers trembled as she opened the journal. The pages gave a quiet creak, like they were waking up after a long sleep. And there he was—her Harry—trapped in ink and paper, but alive in every word.
She stopped at an entry from when he was twelve.
"Meeting Ron's family was like stepping into a different world. Everyone spoke with this kind of… care. Like what they said actually mattered. They joked and argued and hugged without it turning weird. It made me realise how little my mum and I talk about things that actually matter."
Lily's chest tightened. He'd always watched the world so closely, noticing what others took for granted. And she had been too busy, too tired, too lost in everything else. Their talks had been short—chore lists, dinner times, reminders. Not much more.
"I wish we could talk the way they do. Laugh like that. Say what we're really thinking without it feeling awkward. I miss her. I really, really miss her. And I hope one day we'll get it right."
Tears blurred the page. That kind of honesty—it knocked the breath from her. She'd never realised how much he'd hoped for her. Or how deeply he'd felt that distance growing between them.
She turned the page. The next entry was from just a month ago.
"Came home yesterday. Thought it'd be nice. It wasn't. Mum barely looked up from her work and said I hadn't been trying hard enough at school. Which was not true. I studied like mad. Even skipped Quidditch practice once. That's love."
Lily gave a soft, tearful laugh. There was that humour—quiet and dry, just like his father's.
"Still, I get where she's coming from. Maybe. She's tired. Life's been a mess. So I made dinner. Burnt the rice. Dropped the peas. But I tried. Told her it was a 'culinary experiment in modern chaos'. She smiled a little. I'll take it."
Her throat ached. She could see him now—awkwardly stirring, trying too hard, hoping too much. All he wanted was for her to notice.
She flipped forward. The ink here looked newer. The handwriting was a little more hurried, like the thoughts had come too fast to control.
"I don't want to give up. But it feels like we're slipping further apart every day."
Lily closed her eyes, the words sinking deep. That space between them—she had felt it too, like a wall slowly building brick by silent brick.
"She stays in her room. Doesn't talk much. I keep trying. I even cleaned the living room. Voluntarily. I think that deserves a medal. Hermione said maybe I should write a poem to say how I feel. A poem. Me. But I did it. I actually did."
"I'm scared she won't get it. Or worse—won't care. But I had to try. She's my mum. My best person. I just want her back."
Lily pressed her hand over her mouth. The longing in his words—so raw, so real—it clung to her skin like cold rain. She didn't even realise her hands were shaking until the journal shifted in her lap.
Something slipped from between the pages. A folded note. No—not a note. A poem. Hidden, like a secret he'd been too afraid to share out loud.
She opened it slowly, her heart pounding with hope and dread.
This was his heart, written down. And now, finally, she was listening.
A MOTHER'S LOVE
By H.J.P.
All the time I've been waiting
That you will see and know what I'm longing
Want to live a life that I'm yearning
Wake my senses and my world of dreaming
Since my life is in solitary
Wondering what if this would be
I'm with you, but I didn't feel any
Mum, do you hear my heart's emissary?
You are my inspiration in everything I do
Even if it's hard to bear and I can't join the flow
But I felt you ignored those things; is it true?
Or you see my hardships, but you didn't view?
I open my arms, as well as my heart
To receive the love bound from the start
But when I went close, you turned your back
I tried to run to you but lost my track
Mother, could you please say to me
That you love me unconditionally
That all my deeds, even bad, you'll embrace
And you'll forgive me with your willful grace
Can you utter those words I've wanted to hear?
Can I have those eyes looking at mine?
May I hold those warm hands to enfold my sighs?
May I see your lips giving me a smile?
I love you even when the blue sky is gone
I need you when the darkness comes
Long for your touch, your hug so tight
That would ease my fright in the middle of the night
You grant me life, endow a chance
You give me your flesh, your own blood
That's why I've cherished you since I was in your womb
And I'll treasure you 'till I am in a tomb
But you're miles away; it made me sad
I extend my arms to grasp the times we've had
With stream in my eyes, I kneeled and looked above
Asking, could I know how and feel a mother's love?
The words on the page echoed every unspoken fear Lily had buried deep inside. They uncovered quiet moments of loneliness and longing she hadn't noticed before, hidden beneath the routine of busy days. Harry had been hurting—trapped in feelings he couldn't say out loud. And now, through ink and paper, he was reaching out, building a fragile bridge from his pain.
Tears slipped down Lily's cheeks as the truth slowly settled in her chest. She hadn't seen it before—hadn't even thought to look. Caught up in the rush of everyday life, she had missed this part of him. She always saw Harry as strong, steady, and capable of handling everything that came his way. But underneath, he'd been struggling, lost in emotions he didn't know how to share.
From her perch, Hedwig let out a soft hoot. The owl tilted her head, eyes calm and wise, as if she understood far more than she should. Somehow, that gentle gaze seemed to speak to Lily—offering a quiet kind of comfort, reminding her that someone had been watching, even when she hadn't.
She sank lower into the bed, guilt settling over her like a heavy blanket. Had she really missed the signs? The quiet dinners, the distant eyes, the forced smiles? She should've asked more. Should've listened harder. Should've made time, even when life got in the way.
Maybe she could've sat next to him more, shared little moments, asked how he was and really meant it. The ache to undo time hit her hard—but she knew she couldn't. All she had now were the words in that poem. A cry for help she hadn't heard until it was written out in black and white.
Her body felt heavy, drained from the weight of it all. With a quiet breath, she leaned back into Harry's pillow, her eyes slowly closing. Thoughts of what she'd missed danced at the edge of her dreams, tempting her to pretend none of it had happened. But she didn't want to escape. Not this time. She let the grief in—let it wrap around her—because it was the only way she knew how to hold onto him now.