the one | h. potter

53. packing

Two weeks later, the move is well underway. Because of Harry and my long workdays, we get off at around 6 and floo straight to Smith Manor to pack up boxes of clothes, knicknacks, pictures, and whatnot to bring to Grimmauld Place. I'd already brought over everything of mine from Malfoy Manor, making sure to stay far away from Draco and Narcissa.

We've been going slow, bringing only a few boxes and organizing a couple of things each day, so today we are finally taking our last trip to my old house.

"What are you going to do with this place?" Harry asks, as we're floating some boxes down to the floo with our wands. Today, we'd scoured the empty, echoing halls for any remaining furniture or belongings we wanted to move.

I shrug. "Save it, sell it. Give it to charity, maybe."

He chuckles. "That'll piss your dad off."

I smile. "Yes, it will. I don't think he'll care much, as long as I take all the photos of mum."

We make our last stop at the parlor, and I crane my head to look at all the oak shelves, the huge fireplace, the ornate ceiling, as if it's the last time. We haven't gone through this room yet, so we wordlessly split and search the full shelves.

After a couple minutes, Harry clears his throat.

"What?"

"I found a photo album," he says, and I almost trip over my feet running over to him.

He's got the page open to a large photograph of what looks like my birthday. There's a large cake on the kitchen table with a big number 3 candle. There are what must be hundreds of balloons in the background, all around the kitchen. I'm sitting in a sage green high chair, smiling wide and waving around a fistload of cake. But that's not what makes me smile and my heart burst with happiness; it's my parents in the background. They're wrapped around each other, beaming and happy and healthy. My dad is whispering something into my mom's ear and as you watch the picture and his lips move, she smiles a slow, steady smile. I feel like I've intruded on a private moment. The momentary joy I feel is weighed down by a small pang of longing.

My eyes are wet.

"Oh, it's gorgeous," I breathe out, and feel Harry's arms hug me from behind. I pick up the album and plop down on the couch, which lets up a huge cloud of dust and sends us both coughing.

I slowly flip through the pages, which are filled with pictures of birthday parties and Christmas mornings and happy little moments caught on camera. There are photographs of me jumping in the pool, running around the garden, having tea parties with mum, dressing up in shimmering tulle dresses, even sleeping. She's everywhere; holding me from behind, making sure I don't drown in the pool, chasing after me, running with me hand in hand, carrying my little body, kissing my dad on the cheek.

Harry wipes a single tear that had slid down my cheek. I didn't notice I was crying.

There are now a dozen photo albums piled at my feet, all of them scavenged by Harry.

"I don't think I can do it," I sniffle, and Harry's hand moves to cup my cheek.

"Do what?" he asks tentatively.

"Get rid of this place," I whisper, and burst into tears. Harry immediately holds me close against his chest, whispering reassuring words in my ear.

"There are so many memories of her here," I croak once I calm down. "I can't get rid of those."

"That's okay," he says. "You don't have to, it's okay."

"Makes me feel terrible," I choke out. "Here I am, crying to you, and you must think, oh, at least you knew your parents."

"No, hey- no," he whispers. "It would have hurt a thousand times more if I actually remembered anything about them." I stare at him. "C'mon. Let's take these final boxes home, okay? Then we'll be done."

I nod slowly, and Harry springs up from the couch. He levitates half the boxes and throws some floo powder into the fireplace. I take one last look around the room and spot a frame I'd missed previously.

A picture of my parents on their wedding day.

I tuck it carefully into a box and follow Harry through the fire.

We enter the Grimmauld Place living room together and lay the boxes to rest on the floor. Two are full of pictures and photo albums from around the house, and two more are filled with random momentos, interesting decorative items, and trinkets we'd found around its many rooms.

The boxes are empty, save one frame and photo, by the time I reach our bedroom on the third floor. I set the framed photograph of my parents on their wedding day next to a frame that already sits on my bedside table, holding a cute shot of Harry and I from Christmas.

"Lizzie?" I hear Harry's voice ask from behind me.

I hum in response, and lie down on the bed. Harry lies down beside me and cards slowly through my hair.

"Long day?" he asks. I hum in response and burrow into his chest. "Everything okay?" I nod.

"Just tired," I reply, muffled by his robes.

He bends down and brushes a light kiss on my forehead. "What do you want for dinner? I could order thai, if you want."

I lift my head off of his chest and lay it on his shoulder. "Can you make me that pasta you made last week? The one with the chicken alfredo sauce?"

"Of course, love." I can practically hear his smile through his voice. I crawl upwards and peck his lips once, twice.

"I love you," I whisper, and kiss him again, harder this time. We make out for a few minutes until Harry pulls back, face bright red and lips slightly swollen.

"I do love kissing you," he sighs, running a hand through his now messy hair, "but I won't be able to cook us dinner if we continue."

"There's nothing wrong with that!" I argue, but Harry's already climbed off the bed. I pout. "Come back!"

Once at the door, he turns back and blows me a kiss. "You'll be the death of me, won't you?"