Harry stepped into Albus's room carrying the boxes. It was the bedroom down the hall. The room was simple, messy enough to look lived in but neat enough to look cared for. The room was untouched and unchanged. It has been a year since the incident and five months since the funeral. Ginny was too devastated to pack Albus's belongings, leaving it to Harry. It was not the first attempt at trying to pack Albus’s room.
The broom he bought Albus sat unused with the tag still on. He had wanted to bond with Albus and teach him how to fly that upcoming spring, but it never happened.
He headed towards the closet. Harry's eyes burned with tears as he pulled the first sweater off the rack and held it up.
It was the sweater Molly's hand crocheted during Albus' first year at Hogwarts. It was deep green with a giant golden 'A' in the center. Albus was never a fan of the sweater. It was too tiny for him, and anytime Molly wasn't looking, he fidgeted and scratched. He didn't want to hurt Molly's feelings, since he knew how long it took Molly to knit the sweaters and how much love she put into them. And despite how uncomfortable it was,
he insisted he wore it every Christmas.
He gently folded it and set it down. He decided he would keep it. It made him think of the innocent boy, Albus’s kind heart and selflessness, before everything went wrong.
“Here this will protect you from the bad guys,” Draco said softly, as he plugged in the Nightlight. It illuminated the space with a calming amber light. He looked over to 3-year-old Scorpius who smiled softly in satisfaction.
Scorpius was always a sensitive child, he was calm and quiet. Complete opposite of what Draco was when he was younger; opinionated and bratty.
Scorpius was now sixteen, he spent a lot of time in his bedroom since the death of his best friend Albus. Draco would gently knock on the door and ask if he wanted to talk, fly, or assist him in making a potion. But Scorpius would just murmur he was busy or a "Not now father". On the rare occasions, when he did come out of his room, he wandered the house like a ghost, a shell of what he used to be.
Currently, he was off at Hogwarts. Draco insisted he stayed, take a break, take time to mourn, not bury his feelings. But, Scorpious insisted on going. Draco paced the room trying to piece together where it all went wrong.
Draco ran his fingers over the overfilled bookshelf. Scorpius adored reading, one of the qualities he and his father shared. He stopped at the superhero comic collection he had gifted ten years ago when Scorpius was six for Christmas.
“I'm sorry it isn't much," Draco said sincerely as he handed Scopius the gift.
Scopoius hastily ripped the wrapping paper off the gift.
“I love it, Dad,” Scorpius said with a bright grin. Giving Draco a large hug.
It wasn't as lavish of a gift as he wanted to give Scorpius. He did not have much money since the war and with the Malfoy accounts locked. With the little money he had, it was all he could give him. Scorpius cherished those books, re-reading them every chance he got.
Next Halloween, Draco got Scorpius a Wolverine costume and went trick-a-treating in the muggle side of town. One of the few muggle traditions Draco was fond of.
He thought of the time he and Scorpius were refused service at the ice cream parlor at Diagon Alley. So Draco apparated miles to get Scorpius the mint chocolate chip ice cream he wanted.
Draco smiled nostalgically, he would do anything for Scorpius, to make him happy.
“Albus, please don’t shout”
“I’m not going to the fucking mind healer!”
This was a regular occurrence in the Potter household every evening after dinner, a shouting match over Albus' recent behavior. A fight was always picked up over something trivial. This time it was for Ginny making another appointment for a mind healer for Albus.
“Don't you shout at your mother!” Harry chimed in.
Albus ran his hair in frustration. There was a pause at the table, Ginny looked ready to cry, James looked down at his food, and Lily cowered into her seat looking back and forth between her father and Albus.
“Why don't we just have dinner and talk,” Harry said, exasperated.
“It never fucking works out, when will you realize that,” Albus snapped, his voice hoarse due to the shouting.
“We can make it work out,” Harry replied.
“Just let me be Dad,” Albus grunted.
The chair made a harsh screech against the wooden floor as Albus left the table and stormed up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door shut. The silence in the house was deafening.
This was also a regular occurrence. Nobody walked a winner from these fights.
And it left everything quiet and tense in the Potter household. Another attempt of Harry trying to help Albus, not quite knowing how, never truly understanding him or what was going on in his life.
Whether it was going out late or a letter from Hogwarts stating he skipped classes again.
Every time he attempted to get closer, Albus just pulled a bit more away, isolating himself further.
“No I don’t want to go this year, can’t I just stay home?” Albus protested.
“No, Albus.”
Last year, Albus refused to go to the Burrow to celebrate Christmas, which also ended in a shouting match between him and Harry.
He would drag Albus to the clinics and different therapists. He’d try to be more present in his life by taking time off work, try to bond with him over the things they used to enjoy. He read the books Hermione recommended to him on depression and isolation. He’d do anything to get rid of the constant anger and frustration in his son's eyes. Harry tried to give Albus everything he had. He thought it was enough, turns out it was not.
Harry just desperately wanted his happy little boy back, the boy he knew was gone. He felt as if something had turned off that light and it never turned back on. Harry grew to regret his actions since his son's passing. He realized he was trying to Albus into the old Albus, to fix him. Instead of helping him.
He just wanted to find the missing little boy he knew.
On November 14th, Albus was missing again, this time and he was found lifelessly.
Harry set the boxes down and walked out of the room, shutting the door. The tears steadily poured out of his eyes. He wasn't ready to move on, none of the Potters were. For once the room was packed .all they would be left with the memories Albus left behind, bounded by the life Albus left behind.