Lily was in a daze as tears trickled down her cheeks, staring blankly out the window of her apartment. She had come home that night still shaken by what had happened earlier. Just twenty-four hours ago, her son had been there, walking through the house, cooking in the kitchen. Now there was only silence, so absolute she feared she was losing her grip on reality. No hoots came from Hedwig when Harry petted her or sent letters to friends. The quiet was deafening.

Nothing made sense anymore—not Lily's work, her daily life, or even existence itself.

The flood of unanswerable questions overwhelmed her as grief tore through her body and mind. Why did James and her son have to die while she continued to live? Why did she constantly lose those she loved most? The pain and sorrow of their loss was too much to bear, sickening her to the depths of her soul. She was lost in a swirling storm of anguish, unable to find solid ground amidst the relentless waves of despair.

Overwhelmed with emotions, she slumped against Harry's bedroom door, her hands covering her tear-stained face as she wept uncontrollably. When her sobs finally subsided, she opened the door and silently peered into the room.

Harry wanted a simple room, but it was decorated with posters of his favorite Quidditch team and a Gryffindor banner. The room contained a bed with a dark maroon blanket, a window dressed with velvet curtains, a wooden wardrobe, a desk holding some of Harry's notebooks and quills, and Harry's snowy owl, asleep atop her cage with her head tucked under her wing.

Slowly, Lily walked inside and sat on the bed. On the desk lay a picture frame of her and James dancing and twirling in the park on their wedding day, the happiest moment of her life. As Lily stared at the photo, memories of that joyous occasion came flooding back. Guilt and regret suddenly struck her as she recalled the conversation from earlier, when she had so coldly refused Harry's request for a dance. Now she realized he must have seen this picture, the only one on his table, and known of her talent for dancing. Tears fell down Lily's cheeks as she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Harry..."

As Lily scanned Harry's belongings, tears still pooling in her reddened eyes, she spotted a familiar leather journal sitting on his desk. She had gifted him the velvet-bound notebook embossed with his initials a couple years prior. Running her fingers over the smooth cover, she opened it and settled onto Harry's bed.

In the familiar scrawl of her son's handwriting, page after page was filled with his private thoughts and feelings. Lily flipped through the journal randomly, noting the dates in the corners. She paused on an entry from when Harry was twelve, and began reading.

When I first met Ron's family, I was struck by how openly and warmly they communicated with each other, conveying deep love and care. This made me realize just how much I've missed out on meaningful conversation with my own mother, who rarely has time to talk with me. Though I've tried engaging her in the past, our interactions never seem to extend beyond brief, perfunctory responses. I understand she's busy, but I can't help feeling envious of Ron's family and longing for the day my mum and I can simply talk about anything under the sun. I miss her deeply and hold out hope that we'll one day share the kind of rich, fulfilling dialogue I glimpse in others.

The next journal was written one month prior and described Harry's first day back in London for the summer holiday.

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After my first night back home, I was disappointed that it went so poorly. My mother scolded me for supposedly not doing enough in school, even though that isn't true. As punishment, she made me clean, do chores, and study more, which seemed unfair given that I had just finished the school term. I don't blame her, though. To make up for any misunderstanding, I decided to cook dinner that night despite my limited skills. I hoped she would appreciate the gesture, even if the meal itself was less than perfect.

The next one was this morning.

Though it feels too soon to lose hope, I can't help but feel my mother and I growing more distant by the day. At home, she secludes herself in her room, hardly touching the meals I make or responding when I try to start a conversation about dad. I'm at a loss for how to reach her. In desperation, Hermione suggested I write a poem, which seemed lame at first but I did anyway. I want to share it with Mom but fear she won't understand. Still, I remain hopeful that the right moment will come for us to connect again.

As Lily flipped through more pages, she found the rest were blank. With a shaking hand, she took the folded paper tucked between the pages, smoothed it out, and read.

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 has 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 look above

Asking, could I know-how and feel a mother's love?

Overcome with emotion, Lily wept as she read Harry's heartfelt poem. Clutching the notebook to her chest, she was struck by her son's talent for impactful prose, conveying depths of meaning she never knew he possessed. Writing was Harry's only outlet to express himself without fear of her temper. Lily was devastated that her harsh treatment had silently tormented him. She would never forgive herself for ignoring his pain and allowing the damage to accumulate rather than helping him heal.

Hedwig made a soft hoot, her head tilting to one side as she gazed at Lily with sad eyes that conveyed the owl's intuitive sense of her emotions.

Lily curled up on Harry's bed, lost in thoughts of how she could have protected him better. As regret and grief overwhelmed her, she blinked back tears until the storm of emotion finally passed. Exhausted, she closed her eyes, letting sleep take over her weary mind and body.

To be continued…