The first soft rays of sunlight slipped through the curtains, brushing against Lily's face. The light was gentle, almost kind, warming her cheek like a quiet hand on her skin. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. The room glowed in a hush of golden haze, still and undisturbed.
She lay there, unmoving, wrapped in a cocoon of bed sheets. For a moment, it felt like safety. Her mind floated somewhere far away, drifting on the edge of sleep, clinging to the silence.
But then the quiet broke.
A small chime echoed from the bedside clock, sharp and clear like a stone dropped in water. Lily's eyes opened slowly, lashes sticking together. The weight of the day pressed down on her chest before she even sat up.
Six o'clock. Too early.
Her limbs ached with exhaustion, each movement sluggish and heavy. Her body didn't want to wake. Her mind was even less. She turned away from the light, curling deeper into the covers, desperate to steal a few more moments of stillness.
But it was no use.
Memories rushed in like a wave crashing against a fragile shore. Hogsmeade. Screams. Blood. The gleam of a dagger. The way fear had clawed at her ribs like a living thing. Her stomach twisted. The night had sunk its claws into her and refused to let go.
I can't do this again, she thought, her hands fisting the sheets. Not another day. Not after that.
Her gaze flicked to the clock again. Time moved forward whether she did or not.
From the far corner of the room came a loud hoot. Hedwig.
Lily barely registered the sound. She stared at the ceiling, numb, still floating somewhere between dreams and memory. The bed was too big. Too cold. And she wasn't ready to face whatever waited outside this room.
Then—
"Shhh, Hedwig. One more hoot and I'll turn you into a toad."
The voice sliced through her haze like a blade.
Lily's heart stopped.
No. No, that wasn't—her breath caught painfully in her throat.
That voice.
Her blood turned to ice. She didn't move. Couldn't move. Her body had gone stiff with shock. The covers felt suddenly too heavy, pinning her down like a spell.
It wasn't possible.
Slowly—so slowly—she turned her head toward the voice.
A figure stood in the light.
Her breath came out in a shaky gasp.
Messy black hair. Tall frame. Pale skin. A worried face, so familiar it made her bones ache.
Those eyes. Green. Just like hers.
Harry?
Her lips moved before her mind could catch up. "Harry?" she whispered, voice trembling. The name felt brittle in her mouth, like saying it too loud would shatter everything. "H-Harry?!"
The boy—no, not a boy anymore—looked just as startled.
"Mum?" he said, voice thick with concern. "What's wrong? You look… scared."
Scared didn't even come close. She was undone. Her body didn't know whether to cry or scream. Her mind screamed no, but her heart… Her heart begged yes.
He was standing there. Real. Solid. Breathing.
But he couldn't be. He wasn't supposed to be here.
He's gone, she thought. He's gone. I let you go. I let myself believe I'd never see you again.
Her lips trembled. Her knees wobbled beneath the blanket. She couldn't breathe properly. Her throat closed around a hundred questions, none of which made sense.
"You're… here," she choked out, blinking hard. "But… how? How are you here?"
The room seemed to blur at the edges, too bright and too quiet all at once. Her pulse thudded in her ears. She didn't trust her eyes. Her own mind. Had she finally lost her grip? Was this a dream—some cruel illusion shaped from grief?
"I didn't mean to scare you," Harry said gently, stepping closer. "It's me. It's really me."
He reached out, slow and careful.
She flinched.
Her instinct was to pull back. To hide. To protect the fragile illusion of safety she'd built around herself. But her feet stayed rooted to the bed, her heart warring between disbelief and hope.
He looked the same as yesterday. And still… still her Harry. The boy she used to see at home. The boy who had laughed with his friends. The boy she had dreamed of every night since the day she lost him.
She hadn't even dared to imagine what it would be like to see him again.
And now he was right there.
Her eyes darted to the door, to the window, as if the world might suddenly correct itself and take him away. But nothing changed.
Then, without warning, he pulled her into a hug.
His arms circled her with a warmth she hadn't felt in years. She froze at first, her body rigid. Her brain screamed that this couldn't be real.
But he was warm. His heartbeat thudded against hers.
He smelt like old wool and something familiar—soap, maybe, or the faintest trace of the air outside. Something about it cracked her wide open.
Her hands shook as she lifted them. Slowly, cautiously, she clutched the back of his shirt, holding him like a lifeline.
"It's okay, Mum," he whispered, his breath brushing her hair. "It's going to be okay."
Tears slipped down her cheeks. Hot and silent. She didn't even try to stop them. Her face buried in his shoulder, she let herself cry—not from sadness, but from sheer disbelief.
She didn't know if this was a dream.
Didn't know if she had finally snapped.
But in that one impossible, breathtaking moment, none of it mattered.
All that mattered was that Harry was here—and for the first time in years, she didn't feel alone.
Harry looked into her eyes—his eyes—green and clear, just like hers. His voice was barely a whisper. "I'll miss you so much."
Lily's breath caught in her chest. She reached for him, cupping his face in her hands as if to memorise every detail, every freckle. He felt warm and real under her fingertips. Too real. "I'll miss you too, Harry. More than I can ever say." Her voice cracked. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, but none of them came out right. The guilt of it sat like a stone in her stomach.
"I believe you," Harry said quickly. He grabbed her hands, holding tight. "But… Why don't you come to the Burrow for my birthday? You could meet everyone. You'd love it there."
Lily tried to smile, but it came out all wrong. Her heart twisted as he looked at her with that bright, eager smile, so full of hope. She wanted to say yes. Of course she did. But something inside her was pulling tight, something she couldn't name. Her hands slipped out of his. Her chest ached. Why did the question sound so familiar? "I can't—" Her voice wobbled. Her eyes darted away from his face. Why was she panicking? Why couldn't she breathe?
Harry's face fell. The light in his eyes dimmed. "Of course you can't come," he said quietly, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. "You've got that big meeting."
A meeting?
Lily blinked. Her thoughts were slow, sticky. A meeting. Yes, she was supposed to go somewhere. Do something important. But what was it? And why did it feel so far away, like something someone else was doing?
She sat beside him, feeling the weight of the bed shift under her. "I… I had a meeting. And you—" She trailed off, words dissolving before they reached her lips. She didn't know how to explain the tightness in her chest or the way the room felt tilted. Harry was here, alive and warm, and that should have been enough—but the unease didn't fade. It only grew.
Harry reached out and gently took her face in his hands. His touch was steady, calm. "Mum," he said softly, "breathe. It's okay. Everything's going to be fine."
Lily couldn't stop the tears that filled her eyes. She stared at him, searching his face. He was beautiful. Brave. So much older than she remembered, but still her little boy. Her Harry. She felt like she was falling into his eyes, like they were the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. Her fingers wrapped around his hands, desperate to hold on. She couldn't lose him again. She couldn't bear it.
He pulled her into a hug. She melted into him, clinging tightly. For a moment, everything was still.
"You're ready," he whispered. "You're going to do great today."
And then he let go.
He stood, stepping away, moving toward the door.
No. No.
The panic returned, fast and sharp. "Wait—please don't go," she said, her voice rising. Her whole body tensed as she lurched to her feet. "What's happening?" Her mouth couldn't keep up with her thoughts. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong, but she didn't know what.
Harry turned back, offering a small smile. "I'm just making breakfast. I won't be long."
But Lily didn't feel reassured. Everything in her screamed for him to stay. "No, let me do it. You stay here," she said quickly, wrapping her hands around his wrists. Her fingers trembled. He needed to stay. She didn't know why, but he couldn't leave the room. Not now. Not yet.
Harry looked at her with soft confusion. "Mum, really, it's okay. I'll be right back. Just focus on your work. Don't worry about me."
Focus?
She shook her head. "I… I can't focus. I don't…" Her words slipped through her fingers. Her thoughts didn't make sense anymore. Everything felt hazy, like waking from a dream you didn't want to end.
He squeezed her hands gently. "I'll be fine. I promise."
She stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted, but no sound came out. Something about this moment felt final, and that terrified her. She gave a small, reluctant nod, even though every part of her wanted to scream, Don't go.
"Alright…" she whispered.
But her chest still felt hollow. The dread didn't fade. She watched him walk away, and all she could do was stand there, heart pounding, wondering what she was forgetting—and why it felt like goodbye.
Lily stood in the dim quiet of her bedroom, wrapped in a silence that felt too loud. The early light of dawn filtered in through the half-closed curtains, pale and uncertain, casting faint lines across the floor and walls. Her eyes followed those lines, unfocused, as if trying to understand them. Nothing looked quite right—too still, too soft, too unreal.
Yesterday… or had it even been yesterday? The hours felt like liquid, slipping through her fingers, refusing to be held. She tried to grasp them, to make sense of what had happened—but the memories were smudged, like ink spilt on a letter she hadn't finished reading. There had been fear. A moment that stretched like a scream. And then… stillness. Was it over? Had anything really ended?
Her head ached from trying to remember. It felt like she'd been dropped into someone else's life. Familiar walls, familiar air, but everything inside her felt off-kilter. Wrong.
She looked towards Harry's room across from hers. There he was. Her son. Whole. Peaceful. As if nothing had happened.
Lily's breath caught. For a second, she just stared, unsure if he was real. She needed to touch him, to be certain. But she didn't move. Her limbs felt heavy, weighed down by the fog in her chest.
She went and grabbed a new robe and wore it while her mind drifted elsewhere, but when she looked down, she blinked. Her robe was inside out—dark blue, seams exposed, threads dangling. She remembered wearing it yesterday, or was it the night before? She couldn't remember.
Something cold and small curled in her stomach.
She crossed the room, slower than usual, and opened the wardrobe. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for another robe—the deep burgundy velvet one she saved for colder days. It felt heavier than she remembered. The softness of the fabric made her throat tighten unexpectedly. Why did this feel so important?
She slipped it on, pushing her arms through the sleeves with slow, clumsy movements. "Maybe this'll help," she murmured, voice barely above a breath. "Maybe if I look normal, I'll feel normal."
But the moment the words left her lips, she knew they weren't true. Nothing was normal. The room was too quiet. The air was too thin. Her own heartbeat echoed too loudly in her ears.
Still, she pulled the robe tighter around her. A small act. A quiet defiance against the fog in her mind. Maybe if she kept moving—just one step, and then another—the pieces would fall back into place.
Maybe.
After half an hour, Lily walked into the kitchen, her arms loaded with papers that had completely taken over her thoughts. She was still half in her own head, sifting through meeting notes and unfinished plans, her feet carrying her almost automatically. The smell of something warm and buttery drifted toward her, but it barely registered.
Then she saw Harry. He stood at the stove, focused, completely absorbed in what he was doing—his back to her, unaware she'd entered. Something about the sight made her chest tighten unexpectedly. He looked so at ease, so self-sufficient. It was strange, watching him from a distance like this. When had he stopped needing her?
She stepped closer, her curiosity stirring as she tried to peek over his shoulder. "What's for breakf—"
But before she could finish, Harry turned too fast. His arm clipped hers, and the papers slipped from her grasp like falling leaves. They scattered across the floor in a mess of fluttering white.
Lily froze.
Her heart jumped. She gasped, breath caught somewhere between her chest and throat. For a moment, everything dimmed—just the sound of paper hitting the tile and the sudden, painful throb of surprise. Her mind stuttered. It was such a small thing, really, but it hit like a jolt to her system.
Did that really just happen?
Harry dropped to the floor with a panicked expression, cheeks turning pink. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see you—I didn't mean to—"
She watched him scramble to gather the mess, his hands fumbling over the pages. Her own arms hung useless at her sides. A thousand responses rushed through her mind, but none of them made it to her lips. She didn't know what to feel. Anger? Embarrassment? Guilt?
He looked so young all of a sudden—worried and flustered, like he was trying to undo something he couldn't.
"It's okay," she said eventually, her voice softer than she expected. She crouched to help him, her hands brushing the papers. "Really. I'll fix it."
As she glanced at him, a strange weight settled behind her eyes. Something old, buried. This moment tugged at a memory she didn't want to look at. She shoved it down, where it couldn't reach her.
Harry's brow furrowed. "You're sure?"
Lily nodded, forcing a smile. "Absolutely."
Back at the table, she held the papers in her lap like they meant something again—but they didn't. Not really. Her eyes wandered to the clock: 6:45. It was too early to feel this tired. She looked over at Harry flipping a pancake with calm ease. And then the words left her mouth before she could stop them.
"Harry, let's go out today. Just us. Forget the meeting."
He looked over, surprised. "But what about your meeting?"
Her eyes dropped to the pages again. They were full of careful notes and schedules. Important things. At least, they had felt important. Now they just felt like noise—loud, demanding, and completely empty.
"It doesn't matter," she said quietly.
Harry blinked. "But you've been planning this for weeks."
She ran her fingers along the edge of the top sheet. It felt sharper than it should. "I've changed my mind. It's not important."
Harry turned the stove down. "Mum… Are you okay?" His voice was softer now, gentler.
Lily didn't know how to answer. She wasn't sure what "okay" even meant anymore. She watched him set a plate in front of her—eggs, sausage, pancakes. Her chest ached. This should've made her happy, should've reminded her that things were still good.
But instead, it made her want to cry.
She picked up the fork anyway, the metal cool in her fingers. The first bite stuck in her throat, but she swallowed it down. Harry smiled—genuinely—and for a moment, something inside her steadied. She held onto that.
She kept eating, forcing down one bite after another, though the food had turned to ash on her tongue. Her gaze shifted to Harry again. He was chopping vegetables now with practised care. So grown up. So confident. When had he learnt all this? When had she missed it?
Then fear spiked in her chest like a spark catching dry leaves.
She stood quickly and rushed to his side. "Oh, Harry! Please be careful. You could hurt yourself!"
He blinked at her, puzzled. "Mum?"
His calmness only deepened her panic. She scanned his hands—no blood, no cuts—but her stomach still churned. The memory of loss sat too close to the surface. She couldn't go through that again. Not him. Not her boy.
Her hand rose, ruffling his hair the way she used to when he was small. It was a reflex, something familiar, something safe. Then she backed away, retreating to her seat with a shaky breath.
She tried to smile. She needed to smile. But her heart wouldn't stop racing.
He's okay, she told herself again.
But the truth was, she wasn't sure if she was.
Even as she sat down, Lily couldn't stop glancing at Harry. His forehead was lined with worry, a crease that hadn't been there before.
"Is everything alright, Mum?" he asked, voice quiet but weighted.
Lily gave a small nod, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. The coffee offered a faint comfort, its heat seeping into her fingers and chest. She tried to let that warmth spread, to anchor herself in the ordinary rhythm of the morning. But it didn't last.
"Ouch!"
Harry's voice rang out, sharp and sudden.
The sound jolted Lily like a slap. Her hand jerked, coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug. The liquid splattered across the table, dark and messy, trailing over the edge and dripping onto the floor.
Her heart surged into her throat.
"Harry!" she gasped, already on her feet.
He was by the sink, clutching his hand, red beginning to drip between his fingers.
"You cut yourself with the knife!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in panic before she could rein it in.
She reached him in a heartbeat, grabbing his wrist more firmly than she intended, her eyes scanning the wound, her own breath catching.
"It's nothing serious," Harry said, trying to sound calm. But she heard it—the little tremor behind the words. The way he winced, even though he was trying to look brave.
Just like James, she thought, and the ache in her chest deepened. Always trying to be strong, even when he didn't have to be. Especially when he didn't have to.
But it was more than the cut. He was watching her now, really watching—those impossibly green eyes searching hers, the same eyes she saw in the mirror every day.
"What's going on, Mum?"
The question cut deeper than the knife ever could.
Lily looked away for a second, trying to pull herself back into the moment. But the dream still clung to her like smoke—thick, choking, inescapable. The image of Harry dying in her arms, her screams swallowed by silence, his hand slipping from hers… She blinked hard, trying to erase it.
She couldn't fall apart. Not now.
With a shaky breath, she reached for her wand. The wood felt familiar, grounding. It gave her something to hold on to.
"It's just a little cut," she said, forcing the words out evenly. But her voice cracked at the edges. She knew he heard it.
She muttered the healing charm, and a soft golden light wrapped around Harry's hand. The bleeding stopped. The wound closed. Only a faint bruise remained, like a shadow refusing to leave.
But the room didn't return to calm. The air still felt thick, charged with something unspoken.
Harry was still looking at her. That crease in his brow hadn't gone away.
He knows, she thought. Not the details—but he knows something's wrong.
There was a fragile silence between them, a quiet understanding neither of them could put into words.
Then Lily felt her throat tighten. She had to say something. Anything.
"I… I had a nightmare," she admitted, trying to keep her tone light, almost offhand. Her eyes drifted to the window, where pale sunlight tried to break through the heavy grey clouds. "And I can't seem to shake it."
She didn't say how real it had felt. How it had followed her even after waking, clinging to her every thought. How it left her cold inside.
Harry stood still, his injured hand now resting lightly on the counter. He didn't speak right away; he just gave her time.
"What was it about?" he asked softly.
Lily's eyes closed for half a second. Part of her wanted to tell him everything—the chaos, the fear, the helplessness. But another part of her, the part that was still a mother before anything else, couldn't bear the thought of making him carry her nightmares too.
She opened her eyes and smiled. It wasn't real, not really. But it was all she could manage.
"Just silly things," she said quietly. "Old worries."
He didn't press. He never did when she sounded like this. And maybe that's what hurt most of all—that he already knew how to hold back.
She turned before the emotion could rise again, before her voice could betray her further.
Her footsteps were soft as she headed for the stairs, but inside, everything felt heavy. Each step felt like wading through fog.
And behind her, the kitchen stayed quiet, still holding the weight of everything left unsaid.
A little while later, Lily came down the stairs, her cloak wrapped tightly around her and her bag hanging from one shoulder. Her fingers fumbled a little with the clasp—twice she missed the latch, her hands not quite steady. She exhaled slowly, as if trying to force the rising tightness in her chest back down where it belonged. "I have to go," she said quietly, adjusting her bag's strap. "The meeting time changed. It's now at seven-thirty."
Harry looked up from where he was cleaning and nodded. "I'll see you later at the assembly."
Lily blinked, pausing mid-step. "Assembly? What Assembly?" For a second, her heart skipped. Had she forgotten something? But then she caught herself and smiled, letting a flicker of mischief cross her face. "I'm teasing. Just seeing if you're paying attention. I'll see you tonight."
Harry gave her a lopsided grin. "Good luck at the meeting. Not that you'll need it." He stepped forward to give her a gentle hug, and for a second she melted into it, clutching him tighter than necessary. He didn't notice. Or if he did, he didn't say anything.
The moment the front door opened, sunlight spilt across the threshold, golden and soft. For a brief second, it made everything feel lighter. The scent of dew on fresh grass, the distant chirp of birds, and the cool, fresh air made the world outside seem bright and harmless. Lily closed her eyes and let the warmth kiss her cheeks, hoping it would chase away the chill that had lodged itself inside her.
But then her eyes caught a shadow across the street.
A figure. Standing still. Cloaked in a dark hoodie, one hand wrapped around a takeaway coffee cup. Nothing about him should have seemed threatening. But Lily's stomach turned and her heart stuttered in her chest.
Something's wrong.
She took a step forward, her eyes fixed on the figure, her breath quickening.
"Harry!" Her voice cracked slightly, sharper than she meant. She crossed the small walkway in quick strides, putting herself between her son and the street. Her hand gripped his shoulder—too tight, almost panicked—and she tugged him toward her.
Harry blinked. "Mum? What's happening?"
She looked over her shoulder again. The man hadn't moved. He wasn't even looking at them anymore. Maybe he never had been.
Lily tried to steady her voice. "I thought he was walking too quickly. He might have bumped into you. I just…" She faltered. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe."
Her hand lingered on Harry's arm as if letting go would mean something terrible. He tilted his head, studying her with quiet curiosity. She could feel it—the questions lining up behind his eyes.
"Oh. Okay," he said at last, his tone more cautious than comforted.
She forced a breath out of her lungs and tried to smile. Don't scare him, she told herself. He doesn't need to carry your fear.
But then, in the blink of an eye, the calm shattered.
Someone else rushed past them, brushing Harry's arm. It happened so fast she barely registered the blur of another passerby before a sharp sound followed—like a cup hitting the pavement. Harry gasped, stumbling slightly as the hot coffee splashed across his shirt. A dark stain spread like ink over the white fabric.
"Watch where you're going!" The man barked, his tone aggressive, before storming off as if he hadn't even seen them.
Lily froze.
No.
No, no, no.
It was just like the dream.
Her breath caught in her throat. The coffee. The sudden rush. The feeling of being jolted out of nowhere. It wasn't identical, but it was close enough that every hair on her neck stood on end. She felt her heart drop into her stomach, the nausea rising so quickly she had to close her eyes to keep her balance.
"It wasn't just a dream," she whispered, voice thin and trembling.
Harry looked down at his shirt, then up at her. "Mum…?"
She couldn't answer. She was already pacing, her breath quick and shallow, hand pressed to her mouth. Her pulse pounded in her ears. The fear came in waves—one crashing after the other, leaving no space to think.
She'd seen this. Or something like it. The details weren't exact, but the shape, the mood, the dread—it had all been there. She remembered waking up hours ago, convinced she'd just watched something she shouldn't have. She'd shaken it off. Told herself it wasn't real.
But it was happening. It was happening now.
"Mum, what are you trying to tell me?" Harry asked again, gently this time.
She stopped. She blinked at him like she'd forgotten he was there. His face—so open, so trusting—it made the fear worse.
"I had a vision," she said slowly, the words tasting strange and heavy. "A dream. Maybe a warning; I don't know. But I saw today—this moment. Not exactly. The drink spilt. You got a small cut. My papers fell to the ground. It didn't make sense then. But now…"
Her voice broke. She turned her face away so he wouldn't see the tears rising.
Harry's features softened. "It could be coincidence," he said carefully, his tone laced with compassion. "We all get feelings like that sometimes. Like déjà vu. You might just be remembering something similar."
"No," she said firmly, wiping her face. "This wasn't déjà vu, Harry. I saw it. Felt it. The panic. The danger. Something's wrong."
He looked at her, not doubting but not fully understanding either. "Can you tell me more about what you saw?"
Lily hesitated, the weight of it all sitting heavy in her chest. The dream hadn't ended with a coffee spill. It had gone darker. But how could she tell him that? She could barely face it herself.
Still, she spoke. "After the spill, I cast a cleaning charm on your shirt. Then I left for my meeting. My glasses cracked. Not like they fell. They cracked as if from pressure."
Harry took that in, then nodded slowly. "Alright. We'll walk to the ministry together," he said, his voice firm and calm. "If your glasses crack again, we'll know it's not just a feeling. We'll take it seriously. But you're not alone. We'll figure it out—together."
Lily stared at him, surprised by the steadiness in his eyes. He was grounding her now, when she had always been the one to steady him. The shift was subtle, but it made her heart ache with both pride and dread.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet. But she took a breath—then another. The fear was still there, cold and watchful in the back of her mind. But with Harry beside her, it felt a little less suffocating.
"Right," she whispered. "Together."
As they walked through the busy streets, Lily tried to shake off the feeling pressing on her chest—like walking through thick fog she couldn't quite escape. Harry walked beside her, chatting about school, laughing softly as he mentioned the Recognition Assembly. He was trying to keep things light, trying to break the tension. Every cheerful word felt like a rope thrown toward her, something to cling to in the storm gathering quietly inside her.
But with every step toward the Ministry, the sense of dread only deepened. Her instincts whispered that something was coming—something dark. And the question kept repeating in her mind: Can I keep him safe?
"Mum, are you okay?" Harry's voice cut through her spinning thoughts. She looked up to find him watching her, his brow creased with worry.
"Just… thinking," she said quickly, forcing a smile that wobbled on her lips.
A few minutes later, they stepped into the grand atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The golden light from enchanted chandeliers shimmered above them. Witches and wizards bustled past, robes flowing, their voices weaving together into a wave of sound. The floor beneath them gleamed like polished obsidian, reflecting every flicker of magic.
Arthur was moving through the crowd with that same calm ease he always had. When he spotted them near the lift, his face brightened instantly.
"Lily! Harry!" he called out, making his way over. "What brings you two here today?"
Harry, looking slightly nervous but proud, answered, "I just wanted to make sure Mum got to work okay."
Arthur chuckled, clearly amused. "Well now, that's sweet. My boys don't check on me like that—I might have to have a word with them."
The joke drew a real laugh from Lily and a grin from Harry. For a moment, it was enough to shake off the heaviness. They stepped into the lift together, the doors closing behind them with a soft hiss. As the lift rose with a quiet hum, the silence between them thickened, almost thoughtful.
"Here we are, Mum," Harry said as the doors opened.
Lily nodded, but her heart was racing. As they stepped into the corridor, she reached into her bag, her fingers fumbling as she searched for her glasses. Her hands were shaking more than she wanted them to.
There it was at the corner of her bag, the glasses she thought would crack but didn't.
You're alright. Everything's fine, she told herself, barely whispering it aloud. But she didn't believe it—not fully.
Harry must have noticed. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're just nervous, Mum. That's all. I know it'll go well. Just breathe, okay?"
His calmness, his steady voice—it anchored her. She nodded again, swallowing down the lump rising in her throat. "You're right," she murmured. "I trust you."
She took a deep breath. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting his confidence steady her heartbeat. Then, on instinct, she pulled him into a hug. She held him longer than usual—longer than was practical. But she couldn't let go just yet. Not while fear still stirred in her chest.
When she finally stepped back, she looked into his bright green eyes—her eyes—and saw something stronger than doubt: hope.
"You've got this, Mum," Harry said. "Just remember why you're doing this."
She nodded, a smile breaking through the tightness in her chest. "Right. For the greater good."
"Exactly."
She held onto his words like a charm of protection as she walked down the hall. Around her, Aurors strode through in confident steps, bright robes trailing behind them. Some were deep in discussion, others laughed and teased, but all were warriors in their own right.
She neared the tall doors marked "Auror Headquarters". The plaque shone under the lantern light, sharp and clear. She paused beneath it, breath catching, her thoughts racing again. Could she really face what was ahead?
Behind her, Harry's voice rang out like a charm against the dark.
"Good luck, Mum!"
She turned to him, her smile firmer now. "Thanks, love."
He gave a small wave and walked away, his figure growing smaller with each step. She watched him go, heart full. This is why I fight. This is why I won't give in.
For him.
For love.
Always for love.