Tushar Srivastav
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Chapter 10: A Mother’s Silence
🕑 Added 2025-07-06 15:48:09 +0000 UTCLily's POV
He didn't look at her again.
Not even once.
Lily sat still in her chair, looking at the boy—no, the man—her son had grown up to be. His body was calm but tense, and his voice was steady but sharp, like someone who had learned to turn grief into a weapon. He didn't yell. He didn't hit back. He didn't have to. His presence alone was enough to make people feel guilty without having to say anything.
How did this happen?
How had the baby she used to hold with shaking arms—eyes barely open, breath as light as a whisper—turned into this stranger who used silence as a weapon?
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to plead.
She wanted to go back in time and yell at herself to look harder, to stop believing what was easy, and to face what was impossible. She remembered the boy in the café months ago with a painful clarity. The one with the green eyes that looked so familiar and the ability to hold back.
And she had told him to leave. Once more.
So now she was quiet.
She looked down at the man lying on the floor, Peter Pettigrew. Alive. Filthy. A coward. She couldn't breathe. He had stayed at her house and slept in her daughter's room. Hidden in plain sight, and watched them.
She felt sick all over.
While this man lived under their roof, in the pocket of her best friend's son, Sirius had rotted in Azkaban.
What about Harry?
He stood next to Hermione now, tall, steady, and ready for a fight. The way they moved together and talked without having to say more than a glance... It told Lily everything she didn't want to know.
How close they were to each other.
How lonely they had been.
How much she had lost.
Her fists clenched. She hadn't even checked on Hermione to see if she was okay. She hadn't thanked her for helping Harry stay alive when no one else would.
Shame hurt more than sadness.
Then the fear grew:
The real Alastor Moody was somewhere he needed to be found.
And Barty Crouch Jr. was unmasked, alive and smug.
Lily saw Dumbledore's face turn pale. I could hear the defeat in his voice as he talked about miscarriages of justice. But none of it made the pain in her chest go away.
This wasn't just a problem with institutions.
It was a failure of mothers.
Her failure.
She let herself believe the sadness when Harry was taken from her that night and they told her no body was found. It was easier to believe than to feel guilty. She was quiet then, too. Just like when a boy with green eyes stood in the cafe and asked for nothing but a second look.
She looked at him now.
And she remembered something scary.
She didn't know who he was.
And worse, he didn't know her.
Would he ever?
Snape started to move on the floor across the room. Dazed and groaning. Harry and Hermione didn't even blink. They stood still like guards.
Lily swallowed the lump that was in her throat. Her voice came out softer than she had planned, but it was still steady.
"Harry."
He didn't move. But he turned, just a little bit—just a little bit.
"I had no idea. About Peter, about Sirius . About you...
Still nothing. Just quiet from him.
"I should have looked harder," she said. "I should have trusted you in the cafe."
Then Hermione touched Harry's hand with just the tips of her fingers. It was soft and grounding. And Lily saw it. Harry finally let out his breath.
His shoulders were starting to feel less tense, but not much.
Lily whispered, "I want to make it right. However long it takes."
He didn't say anything. Not yet.
A owl flew down from the windowsill and landed on Lily's shoulder.
The owl's silver eyes looked into hers. Measured. Informed.
Then she lightly tapped Lily's cheek with her beak, like a kiss.
And flew to Harry.
That short, quiet time broke her.
She cried without making a sound.
That Night Later—Lily's Room
The fire made a low crackling sound in the grate. Shadows moved slowly across the walls of Lily's private space, giving everything a warm orange glow. Ellie had been asleep for a long time, curled up with a pillow and one arm around a stuffed kneazle for protection.
Lily sat by the fire with her knees up and a broken picture frame in her lap. It was a picture of James holding baby Harry up and the boy laughing and reaching for his father's nose. Lily realized for the first time in years that she hadn't looked at the picture in sadness, but in guilt. The edges were worn from being handled too much.
She ran her thumb over the glass, brushing over the frozen smile of a boy who was no longer alive. No, he was real. Not here, though. Not in her arms. Not in her life.
He learned to walk on his own. He laughed when I wasn't there.
He lived without me.
And yet, she could still feel the weight of him on her chest that cold December night, even though he was so small. James had been reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard out loud, but he kept getting the words wrong, which made her laugh. Harry had fallen asleep to the sound of his father's voice, and his little hand was wrapped around a strand of her hair.
She remembered humming to him, just something soft and wordless. A song her mom used to sing to her. It had been years since she thought about it.
Lily shut her eyes. That old song came back, slowly, like something holy breaking through the years. She started to hum.
Soft. Not sure.
The air changed.
The owl from the office flew in from window and, tilted her head. Her silver eyes got smaller. Then, without making a sound, she gently glided down and landed next to Lily's chair.
She didn't make a noise. She didn't wake Ellie up. She just stood there and stared.
Lily's voice shook as she finished the last note, and for a moment, nothing happened. The owl moved closer and lightly touched Lily's knee with her beak. A short, light touch. It was almost like approval.
Then she flew back to the sill, as quiet as falling snow.
Lily stared after her, her eyes burning.
Perhaps a part of Harry remembered that lullaby as well. Not sure.
But she would keep humming it until he did.
She looked back at Ellie was asleep and safe, not knowing how much the world had changed that day. She looked calm. All.
Lily thought Harry would never get that chance. But maybe... maybe there's still time to give him something.
Something real. Something that wasn't born out of guilt or need.
\
She gripped the photo frame tighter.
She would never lose him again.
No matter how long it took.
Lily looked at her daughter sleeping for a long time.
Harry wasn't a mystery to Ellie. He was her brother. That's all there is to it. She hadn't asked him why he left or where he had been. She just wanted to know when he would be back and if he will stay with them.
Lily had just nodded back then. Now she wasn't sure, of the question Ellie has asked. It kept repeating
It made her wonder.
What can I give him now?
He has grown. Hardened. Carrying things she can't even name.
He doesn't need a mom. Not anymore.
But maybe he still deserved one.
A soft knock broke her train of thought.
She opened the door.
Harry was standing there. And next to him was Hermione.
He finally looked at her, and his eyes were tired. Measured. On guard.
But not avoiding anymore.
He said softly, "I have a promise to keep."
He didn't wait and just walked past her and into Ellie's room.
He got down on one knee next to her bed. Ran a hand through her hair.
Lily couldn't hear what they said.
Ellie moved, blinked, and smiled. Then, without saying a word, she turned and reached for his hand. She pulled him gently onto the bed next to her, as if he belonged there. He let her pull him.
Lily was standing in the door. Looking. Hermione moved next to her.
She said softly, "He doesn't hate you."
Lily swallowed. "He doesn't trust me either."
Hermione nodded. "He doesn't trust people easily. But he will I am sure of it.
"What it was like to want to be found."
Lily looked at the couple on the bed. Harry was lying next to Ellie, and her hand was still in his. They were both asleep under the warm blanket.
She would do anything to keep this picture.
To make it happen. To get it back.
No matter how long it took.
And this time, she wouldn't turn away.
