Lily couldn't help grinning at the sight of students bouncing with anticipation. It reminded her so much of her own Hogwarts days. The nerves. The giggles. The wide eyes. She felt as if she'd stepped into a dream, one where time had folded in on itself.
Then came the soft, unmistakable voice of Professor Dumbledore, rising above the excited murmurs like sunlight through mist.
"Now that we are all fed and watered," he began, his eyes dancing with that trademark sparkle, "let us begin the Recognition Assembly. Please refer to the paper that appeared on your tables. It contains all the information you will need for the ceremony."
Lily smiled as heads bent over crisp sheets of parchment. The room filled with the rustle of turning pages and sharp gasps of surprise. Some students lit up like lanterns—cheering, laughing, pointing out their names with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Others, poor things, looked like they'd been hit by a Bludger, their faces clouding over as they scanned the lists again and again, just to be sure.
She remembered that feeling. The hope, the pressure, the way you clung to even the tiniest possibility that your name might be there. She couldn't stop herself from glancing at Harry.
Professor Dumbledore continued, his voice steady, comforting. "Student life can present challenges… Balancing your studies with other duties—career, friends, family—takes dedication."
Lily's heart softened. Oh, how she knew it did. She thought of Harry again—her beautiful, stubborn boy who had spent more nights than she could count curled over textbooks, rubbing his temples, trying to juggle everything at once. There had been tears. And frustration. There had even been one night he threatened to hex his own homework if it didn't stop growing.
But he never gave up.
"Remember," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling now, "it's all part of the journey to becoming the best version of yourself. The struggles you face now will only make your successes even sweeter."
Yes, Lily thought, pressing a hand over her heart. That's exactly it.
Professor Dumbledore's words flowed on, but Lily barely heard them. Her attention was locked on Harry—her Harry—sitting upright, hands fidgeting under the table, trying not to look like he was hoping for anything. And beside him, Ron gave him a reassuring pat on the back.
Friends. Lily felt her eyes sting. Thank Merlin for friends. They made the hard parts bearable. They made the victories even sweeter.
"And some," Professor Dumbledore added with a playful twinkle in his eye, "went above and beyond."
He looked directly at Harry. And winked.
The room exploded with applause. Students clapped and whooped and stomped their feet. Harry blinked like someone had hit him with a Stupefy. His ears flushed red. Lily laughed softly, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. Oh, he's blushing. He's actually blushing.
Her heart thudded like a drum.
"Now," Professor Dumbledore went on, gesturing toward a long table stacked with shining trophies and engraved plaques, "I believe some recognition is in order."
Lily's breath caught. She didn't even know she was holding it until she felt her lungs scream for air. Each name Dumbledore called was met with claps and cheers, but she barely registered them. Her heart beat faster with each second, as if it were inching closer to something she didn't dare hope for—
"HARRY POTTER!"
It wasn't just applause this time—it was thunder. The walls trembled with it. Lily shot to her feet before she realised it, hands clutched tightly together. Harry looked like he'd been petrified. And then, slowly, he stood.
Oh, sweetheart. Look at you.
He looked so unsure at first—eyes wide, shoulders drawn—but then something shifted. Confidence, maybe. Or just the knowledge that he belonged up there. He started walking, and every step felt like a lifetime for Lily.
Every late-night study session, every disappointed sigh, every quiet moment of doubt—they all led to this.
Tears slipped down Lily's cheeks, warm and happy. She didn't bother to wipe them away. This wasn't about a trophy. This was about proof—proof that effort mattered. That perseverance paid off. That kindness and courage didn't go unnoticed.
Professor Dumbledore beamed at Harry as he placed the award in his hands.
"And for courage in the face of adversity, for facing challenges with integrity," he said, his voice rich with pride, "we present Harry Potter with the prestigious Gryffindor Achievement Award!"
Another wave of applause crashed through the Great Hall. Lily didn't even pretend to stay composed now. Her hands flew to her mouth. She could barely see through her tears, but she could feel it—feel the love bursting in her chest like fireworks.
Harry turned, still holding the plaque like he wasn't quite sure it was real. Then his eyes searched the hall. They passed over students and teachers, friends and mentors… and landed on her.
Lily's breath caught.
Their eyes met. And he smiled.
Not just any smile. A quiet, knowing one. A smile that said, We did it, Mum. A smile that reached into her soul and wrapped itself around every aching part of her that had ever feared he wouldn't make it through.
She nodded, blinking fast, smiling so wide it hurt.
As he walked back, Ron pulled him into a one-armed hug and whispered something that made Harry snort with laughter. Probably something ridiculous like "Don't drop the plaque; it might be cursed." Boys.
Lily sat back down, her legs shaky. Her heart full.
He wasn't just her little boy anymore. He was growing into himself—into the kind of man she always hoped he'd be. And even though the world had thrown more at him than most could handle, he was still standing. Still smiling.
And for tonight, that was more than enough.
The applause had faded, but Lily could still hear it echoing in her heart like an old lullaby. As students stood and began to file out of the Great Hall—buzzing with conversation, clapping friends on the back, holding awards like precious treasures—Lily lingered for a moment in her seat. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, and her cheeks still tingled from where tears had dried.
She finally rose, feeling a strange lightness in her chest. Not floating, exactly… just lifted. Like some invisible weight had been peeled off her shoulders. The kind you didn't even know you were carrying until it was gone.
As she stepped into the flow of bodies exiting the hall, Lily's eyes never strayed far from Harry. He was walking a few feet ahead, surrounded by Ron and Hermione—Ron still laughing about something, Hermione clearly trying not to cry. Harry had tucked his plaque under his arm like it was just another textbook, but the pride in his walk gave him away.
Lily smiled to herself. He always tries to act like it's no big deal. Like, winning awards is just… something that happens. Like he didn't nearly explode trying to brew that advanced potion months ago.
She remembered him telling her from a distance that he blew up half the cauldron and nearly took his eyebrows with it. He'd staggered out of the smoke, covered in soot, muttering, "I swear I followed the instructions this time." It had taken every bit of her restraint not to laugh or run to him—because heaven forbid a teenage boy be comforted in public.
"Nice going, Potter!" someone called from the corridor. A younger Hufflepuff, grinning up at him like he was a rock star.
Harry gave a sheepish nod and mumbled a quiet "Thanks".
Lily bit her lip to keep from grinning too wide. He'll never get used to the attention, she thought. Just like James. That awkward shuffle of his feet, the way he ducked his head when someone praised him—it was almost identical. Though James would have followed it up with a wink or a cocky grin. Harry just looked like he wanted to disappear into his robes.
Still, his eyes were glowing.
He felt it. That sense of being seen. Of being appreciated not just for what he had done—but for who he was.
As they walked toward the Entrance Hall, Lily let her thoughts drift freely.
Merlin, I'm proud of him.
It was more than pride, actually. It was a relief. Gratitude. Love so big it scared her a little. Watching Harry struggle through the year had been… hard. Painful, at times. The missed meals. The stress headaches. The quiet days where he wouldn't talk to anyone and the nights he'd just sit and stare at nothing in particular.
But he never gave up. He never quit. Even when everything inside him screamed to.
And now—now he was walking taller. Not just because of the award, but because of what it meant. Because he earned it. Not with shortcuts. Not with magic fixes. But with sheer determination, a heap of grit, and the love of a few loyal friends.
"Wait up!" Lily heard herself call softly, hurrying her steps.
She didn't want to lose sight of him just yet. It wasn't time for the moment to end.
Harry glanced back and gave her a small smile—the same one he'd given in the Hall. Quiet. Full of meaning.
She caught up beside him, and they walked in companionable silence for a moment, the kind that only comes when words are unnecessary.
Then, feeling brave, Lily nudged his arm and whispered, "I'm incredibly proud of you, you know."
Harry blinked, then gave a small, bashful chuckle. "Thanks, Mum."
Just that. Two words. But they landed in Lily's heart like a thunderclap.
Mum.
Sometimes, it still surprised her. Hearing him say it. Feeling that bond still so real and whole despite everything they'd lost and gained.
She smiled at him—really smiled. "You earned that award. Every bit of it."
He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "I didn't think I'd get anything."
"Well," she said with mock seriousness, "you did nearly poison yourself in Potions. That should count for something."
He laughed—really laughed—and Lily swore she could live a thousand more years if she got to hear that sound every day.
The hallway stretched on ahead of them, full of noisy students and excited chatter, but for just a moment, the world felt quiet. Peaceful.
Harry looked up at her again. "You helped me, though. I wouldn't have done any of it without you."
Lily's throat tightened. She reached out and squeezed his arm. "No, love. You could've. But I'm glad you didn't have to."
Lily's eyes followed Professor Dumbledore as he moved toward her, all fluid grace and unshakeable calm. There was something comforting in the way he carried himself—as if nothing could ever really go wrong in his presence. But tonight, that usual warmth twisted into something colder. Unease, maybe. Dread, definitely.
She tried to meet his gaze, those piercing blue eyes that had seen far too much, but even that was hard to hold. Her stomach clenched, nerves tangling into tight knots.
"All will be well," he said softly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. The contact was grounding, yes—but it also felt like goodbye.
She nodded, trying to draw strength from his assurance. But her mind refused to settle. What if he's wrong? What if tonight is the night everything unravels?
Nearby, she caught Ron asking Molly where Arthur had gone.
"He and Dumbledore have business," Molly answered so calmly, as if "business" didn't sound like a euphemism for "danger". Lily found herself envying that calm—envying Molly's ability to keep a steady voice when the world was constantly teetering.
"My mum and dad are planning a small celebration at home," Hermione chirped beside her, all sunshine and sparkle. "Would you like to come with us, Mrs. Potter?"
The words reached Lily's ears, but not her mind. They scattered before they could settle. She felt like a ghost haunting the edges of her own life—there, but not really there. Not when her every waking thought was wrapped around one thing: Harry.
The war might've been over on paper, but in her heart, the battle was still raging. Old threats had long fingers, and they liked to clutch at shadows.
Then—
"Mum? Are you alright?"
Harry's voice cut through the fog. Lily blinked, startled, as if yanked out of a dream.
"What?" she replied, a bit too fast, a bit too confused. Her son's face swam into focus. He looked… concerned. His forehead was creased, the faintest wrinkle forming in that space between his brows. He's too young to have worry lines, she thought bitterly.
Hermione tried again, offering the same invitation, but her cheerful tone faltered slightly this time, no match for the thick cloud of Lily's apprehension.
Molly, bless her, noticed.
"That would be lovely, Hermione, dear," Molly said smoothly, stepping in before the awkwardness could deepen. "But how about we celebrate tomorrow at the Burrow instead?"
"Oh yes!" Hermione lit up, clearly thrilled with the idea. "That would be brilliant, Mrs. Weasley!" Her parents nodded, all polite smiles and quiet relief.
Lily barely heard any of it. Her thoughts were spiralling again.
Then Harry turned to her, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "Mum… is something wrong?"
She wiped at her brow, where sweat had gathered despite the cool night air. Get it together, Lily.
"No, nothing's wrong, sweetheart," she said, too brightly. She hated how fake she sounded. "Where would you like to go?"
Harry blinked, surprised by the sudden cheer in her voice. He tilted his head, clearly not buying it.
"Well, um… Maybe the Three Broomsticks?" he said, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "We could grab dessert?"
Lily froze.
The Three Broomsticks. Of course he would say that. It was just a name, just a place—but it hit her like a curse to the chest. That place had been off-limits for today. Too close to memories she'd buried. Too close to where things had gone horribly, irrevocably wrong.
Harry kept talking, oblivious to her spiralling thoughts. "They've got that new dessert—it's supposed to be a chocolate explosion or something—"
"Would you like to go somewhere else?" She blurted, interrupting him too quickly. Her voice cracked on the edge of panic. She forced herself to soften it. "I mean… just thought you might want a change of scenery?"
He blinked again. "I mean, sure, we could go to Madam Puddifoot's or something—" He sounded unconvinced, the suggestion limp and unenthusiastic.
Lily knew he was just trying to make it easier for her. Sweet, thoughtful boy. Always looking after everyone but himself.
"But I'd really prefer the Three Broomsticks," he added quietly, almost apologetically.
And then Ron chimed in without thinking.
"The Three Broomsticks again?" he scoffed. "I know it's your favourite and all, but—"
"His favourite?" Lily murmured, more to herself than anyone. Somehow, she hadn't known that. Or maybe she'd forgotten, buried it under layers of worry and protective instincts.
Her heart squeezed. He just wants one night. One night of happiness, of normal.
She looked at him—really looked. The eager glint in his eye, the hopeful lift of his eyebrows, and the way he kept fidgeting like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to want things. He was growing up so fast. Too fast. And she'd spent so long trying to keep him safe that she'd nearly forgotten to let him live.
And if that meant walking back into her nightmares for his sake… then maybe she could.
"Okay," she said, finally. Her voice was soft but steadier this time. She smiled—really smiled. "Let's go to the Three Broomsticks."
Harry's eyes widened. "Really?"
She nodded. The anxiety still clawed at her ribs, but she pushed it aside. He deserves this.
"Awesome!" he grinned, the kind of grin that made all the fear worth it. "I can't wait to try that chocolate thing—it's supposed to explode or something."
"Fantastic," Lily muttered, already imagining dessert catching fire and setting off some sort of magical emergency. "What could possibly go wrong?"
But despite her sarcasm, warmth bloomed in her chest. Because her son was happy. And for tonight, that was enough.
They stepped out into the night, the brisk air brushing against Lily's face like a wake-up slap. She took a deep breath, forcing her feet to move forward beside Harry's. The castle loomed behind them, comforting and eternal, but the further they walked, the more it felt like stepping off a ledge.
The path to Hogsmeade twisted ahead, quiet but not silent. Every rustle of leaves, every distant crack of a twig made her spine straighten. Too quiet, her mind whispered. Too easy.
Harry chatted beside her, something about the dessert again—chocolate mousse with popping candy and a flaming sugar dome—but her brain only caught half of it. She nodded and smiled in the right places, but her eyes kept flicking to every shadow, every corner where someone—or something—could be hiding.
She clutched her wand tighter inside her coat pocket, her fingers already numb.
You're just being paranoid, she told herself. It's safe now. Dumbledore said so.
But Professor Dumbledore had said a lot of things over the years. Some of them were true. Some of them had nearly gotten them all killed.
The last time she'd walked this road had been different. The last time, she hadn't known it would end in screams.
It had been dusk then, too. The sky bruised purple. Harry had been younger, a little shorter, still full of stories and questions. And she remembered how he had tugged her hand and asked if they could stop by Zonko's after lunch.
She'd smiled and said yes. That was the last moment she remembered feeling safe.
Then, just like that, the memory changed—twisted into something sharp and dark. Shouts. Panic. A flash of green light across the cobblestones. The smell of burnt fabric and blood. She hadn't even realised she was crying until someone—Remus? Tonks?—had pulled her behind cover.
Harry had been fine, thank Merlin. Just shaken. He'd bounced back. Children were like that. But Lily… Lily had never really returned from that day.
Now, walking the same road, her boots clicking against the same stones, she could feel it all creeping back up her spine.
She glanced sideways at Harry. He has looked older lately. Still had that boyish face, but the sharp edges of adolescence were setting in. His jaw was more defined, his voice deeper. But his eyes—mischief and kindness and fire all crammed into two impossible green irises.
He caught her looking and gave her a half-smile. "You okay, Mum?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes," she said quickly. "Just… thinking."
"About what?"
Lily hesitated. How do you tell your child that your brain is screaming at you to grab him and run the other way?
"About dessert," she lied. "I hope this chocolate thing doesn't actually explode."
Harry laughed, a short bark of amusement that echoed off the trees. "If it does, I'll shield you with my napkin."
She chuckled despite herself. "How heroic."
But the moment of levity faded as they passed the turnoff that led to the path where the ambush had once begun. Her breath hitched.
She hadn't even realised she'd stopped walking until Harry turned around.
"Mum?"
"I'm fine," she said, too fast. She forced her legs to keep moving, even as her knees trembled. "I just… thought I heard something."
He glanced around. "There's no one here."
Exactly, she thought grimly. That's what scares me.
Still, she pressed on, step by shaky step, because Harry was walking ahead of her with that spring in his step. Because she wanted him to have this moment. Just one night that felt like something normal. Something light.
They reached the edge of the village, the glow of lanterns softening the dark. The Three Broomsticks stood ahead, golden light spilling from the windows, laughter and music humming faintly inside. From here, it almost looked… safe.
Almost.
Her heart thudded against her ribs as they neared the door. She could still hear the cries of that night. See the chaos. Feel the blood on her hands. But this wasn't that night. Harry was safe. The war was over. And she could survive this—she had to survive this—for him.
He held the door open for her. "After you, Mum."
Lily straightened her spine and stepped inside.
Please, she thought. Just let tonight be different.
Warmth washed over them at once—a cocoon of golden candlelight, clinking glasses, soft chatter, and the inviting scent of freshly baked bread and spiced cider. It hit her like a memory, full and familiar, tugging at a part of her heart that had been locked up for too long.
"Let's sit by the window," she said quickly, her eyes scanning the interior before she'd even taken a full breath. She tried to smile, tried to sound casual, but her instincts were already on edge. If something happened, she needed a view of the street—an exit plan, a warning, anything. Old habits, she thought grimly. Or maybe not so old.
Harry didn't question her choice. He nodded and led the way to a small table in the corner, its surface worn smooth by time and stories. Lily followed, her heartbeat still loud in her ears. She hated how often fear crept in like this—quiet but constant, curling around her ribs. Was this what vigilance looked like now? Or had it turned into paranoia?
She tried to shake it off as they sat down and tried to focus on Harry instead. He looked around the pub with wide eyes, a soft grin blooming on his face as he spotted familiar figures—faces from the earlier assembly, some still in conversation, others already onto their second round of butterbeer. He looked so young in that moment, so much like James it ached.
Madam Rosmerta appeared beside them, her smile as warm as ever, though Lily noticed the tiredness beneath it. Everyone was stretched thin these days. Still, Rosmerta's charm hadn't faded. She took their order with brisk kindness, then disappeared back into the hum of the bar.
Lily turned her gaze to the window. Beyond the glass, the cobbled street glowed under lamplight. Families strolled past with soft laughter trailing behind them. Couples leaned into each other, steps slow and content. It looked… peaceful. Almost untouched. But Lily didn't trust it. She watched for any flicker of movement in the shadows, for cloaks too dark or faces too pale.
Just one Order member, she thought. Just one face I know. Just something to say you're not alone.
But there was nothing. Only the ordinary magic of a village trying to stay whole in the face of something that wanted to shatter it.
"Do you like this place?" Harry's voice broke the quiet.
Lily blinked and turned toward him. His expression was so open, so careful. He wasn't just asking about the pub. He was asking about her. About whether she was okay.
She gave him a smile, small but real. "This is actually my favourite place… after Godric's Hollow," she said, her voice softer than she expected. The words brought a gentle ache with them. That little house, that little life—they were gone. But the memories weren't.
A breath of relief left Harry's lips. "I thought you would hate it. You looked so worried earlier."
Lily let out a laugh that surprised even her. "Oh, sweetheart, that was nothing. Just… a bit of homesickness, I guess." She hesitated, then added quietly, "And maybe a touch of nerves. Being back here brings back a lot."
It wasn't just homesickness, of course. It was grief, dressed in old laughter and butterbeer. It was remembering coming here with James, with Sirius teasing everyone, with Remus pretending not to smile. With baby Harry waiting at home with a sitter while they tried to remember what it felt like to be young and safe.
"Minus the nervousness," Harry said, raising his eyebrows, "you looked confident at the meeting."
Lily was surprised. "You were there?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "I brought you that blue folder, but you already had it, so I… slipped away."
There was a lull, gentle and full. And then Lily reached into her cloak pocket. Her fingers trembled a little as she drew out the small parcel she'd wrapped that morning. It felt heavier now, like it had soaked up all her hesitations.
"I want you to have this," she said, her voice barely louder than the clinking of nearby glasses.
Harry looked at the package, frowning slightly. "What is it?"
She pushed it toward him, carefully. "Something I should have given you long ago."
His hands moved with care, the kind that always made her heart swell. He unwrapped the package slowly, layer by layer, revealing a small brass case. It gleamed softly in the candlelight, its surface etched with delicate patterns.
Harry opened it—and froze.
Inside, nestled in deep blue velvet, was a pocket watch. Polished and perfect, like time itself had stopped just to preserve it.
On the back were two simple letters: H.E.
Harry's mouth parted in a small gasp. His thumb brushed over the initials, reverent.
"It was my father's," Lily said, the words catching slightly in her throat. "He gave it to me when I started Hogwarts. I carried it with me all seven years." Her voice wavered. "And now… I want you to have it."
She couldn't stop the images that came unbidden: her father's warm laugh, his strong hands adjusting her scarf that first morning on the platform. He had pressed the watch into her palm with a kiss on the forehead and a wink, telling her to "keep time for herself".
Now Harry held it like it was the most fragile thing in the world.
He turned it over in his hand, then noticed the tiny hinge inside. When he gently opened the back compartment, two photographs were tucked inside. One, already curling at the edges, showed James and Lily with a baby wrapped in blue—a moment frozen in joy. Harry's breath hitched.
"They took that on your first birthday," Lily murmured. "You wouldn't stop trying to eat the camera."
He let out a shaky laugh, brushing a thumb over James's face.
The second photo made him pause. Two older figures smiled up at him—dignified but soft, their eyes brimming with warmth.
"Are they…?" he asked, eyes wide with hope.
Lily nodded, her throat tightening. "Your grandparents. They loved you. So much."
Harry stared for a long moment, then slowly closed the case and pressed it to his chest.
"Thank you, Mum," he whispered. The weight of it seemed to settle into his soul.
And for just a heartbeat, the world felt still.
Madam Rosmerta returned quietly, balancing two frothy mugs and a plate of chocolate trifle. "Here you go, dears," she said, voice gentle, eyes twinkling as if she understood more than she let on. "Enjoy your treats."
Lily smiled at her in gratitude. As Rosmerta walked away, Harry picked up his butterbeer and raised it slightly.
"To grandpa," he said.
Lily clinked her mug against his. "To all of them."
She took a sip, and then her voice shook even before the first word escaped. "I'm so proud of you, Harry."
Her throat tightened. The words felt too small, too late.
"You're doing so much better than you think. You've faced things no one even knows about. And you did it alone, most of the time."
Harry looked at her, eyes searching, his brow furrowed with confusion. He didn't speak, but the question was there, written all over his face. He was always trying to understand people—always trying to make sense of love that came with conditions and praise that arrived only after pain.
Lily swallowed hard. The truth sat heavy in her chest, pressing against her ribs like it was trying to escape.
"I haven't been honest with you. Not with myself either," she confessed, the words tumbling out too fast, too raw. "For years, I've told myself I was doing my best. But I—I pushed you away."
Harry tensed, like her words had landed too close to a wound that hadn't fully healed.
"You've gone through so much," she whispered. "And you always kept it to yourself. You never let me see the darkest parts of you. Maybe you thought I wouldn't care. Or wouldn't understand."
Lily's voice caught. Tears stung her eyes before she could stop them.
"But I do care. I see you now, Harry. I see how strong you are. How kind. How much heart you carry, even after everything."
Harry sat still, barely breathing. She could see it in his face—the tug of emotion, the war between wanting to forgive and needing to protect himself.
"I wish I'd told you sooner," she said, voice thick with regret. "I wish I'd shown you how much you matter. How proud I've always been."
He blinked hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you mean, Mum?"
That quiet question broke her heart.
She wanted to take it all back—every cold moment, every missed chance, every time she chose silence over affection. She'd thought she was being strong, teaching him resilience. But now she saw the truth. He hadn't needed strength. He had needed love.
Lily reached across the table and took his hands. His palms were warm, familiar. So much bigger than when he was little. So much older. When had that happened?
"I'm sorry, Harry," she said. "I've made so many mistakes. I didn't always know how to be the mother you needed."
"You weren't a bad mum," he said softly.
But she shook her head. "I didn't spend enough time with you. I didn't give you enough affection. I see that now. I thought I was protecting you from the world, but I was just… keeping myself safe. From feeling too much."
She broke down then, burying her face in her hands as the sobs came, uninvited and uncontrollable. Her whole body shook with it—the guilt, the grief, the fear of time running out.
"Mum…" Harry's voice came like a thread of light through the storm. She felt him move, heard the scrape of his chair, and then his arms were around her.
She melted into him, clinging to her son like a lifeline. She felt so small in his embrace. He held her like he was the one keeping her upright now.
"I didn't mean to make you feel unloved," she whispered into his shoulder. "I just didn't know how to show it properly. And now I'm so afraid… I'm afraid I'll lose you before I've made it right."
"You won't," he said, voice steady despite the quiver in it. "I'm here. I love you. That's never changed."
He pulled back slightly to look at her, eyes wide with sincerity. "You've always loved me. I know that. Even when it was hard for you to say. I've always felt it."
She wanted to believe him. His words were a balm, but her guilt ran deep. Still, she nodded slowly, letting the warmth of his acceptance wash over her.
"You're such a good boy," she murmured. "You're everything I ever hoped you'd be. Kind, brave, thoughtful…"
Harry gave her a small smile and reached over to slide the chocolate trifle closer. "Let's eat, yeah? Before we both start crying again."
Lily laughed—just a little, just enough to break the sadness. It was a quiet, tired sound, but it was real.
"I'm sorry if I ruined the party," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You didn't ruin anything," Harry replied. "You're here. That's all that matters to me."
He took her hand again, squeezing gently. Lily looked at him and saw a boy who had become a man far too soon. But there was still softness in him. Still room for joy. For love.
She remembered him at five years old, running barefoot through the backyard, chasing fireflies. She remembered reading to him at night, his head heavy on her arm, his breaths slow and even. She remembered the first time he called her "Mum" with a smile and the time he skinned his knee and told her it didn't hurt, even as tears welled in his eyes.
So many memories, scattered across years like pieces of a quilt she hadn't finished sewing. But maybe there was still time. Maybe, somehow, they could patch it all together again.
"I love you, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice thick but steady now.
"I love you too, Mum," he said, smiling up at her.
And in that moment, Lily felt something shift. Not all the pain was gone, but the space between them no longer felt so wide. She reached for her fork and took a bite of cake; it was warm and sweet on her tongue. Harry watched her, waiting for her reaction like he used to when he brought her crayon drawings.
"It's perfect," she said.
He beamed.
Maybe healing didn't come all at once. Maybe it came in quiet moments, over cake and forgiveness.
Maybe this was enough—for now.