Harry. My poor, poor Harry.
I'm sorry I left you with the weight of the world on your shoulders. Left you living everyday in fear. Left you with a horrible family, left you with a prophecy to fulfill. A prophecy that could end in your death.
I'm a horrible mother. Horrible. How could I do that to my child? My sweet, sweet Harry?
I miss you, Harry. I miss you so, so much.
When your father and I had you, I was excited like any mother. I was thinking about your future, what I'd say when you came home with your first girlfriend, the joy and happiness I'd feel when you graduated Hogwarts, the smiles and laugh we would share at dinnertime.
I never got to do any of that with you. I only watched you cry. Fight. Hurt. Suffer.
And I felt so helpless. So helpless! I couldn't help my own son. I just stood by and watched you, watched you grow older, watched as the pain of the world on your shoulders grew and grew.
How could I be that selfish? To just abandon my child when he needs me? To just watch while he was bleeding inside?
When you needed someone to hold you, someone to stroke your hair and say that you understand, that it's okay to cry, that they're there for you…
No one was there. So you acted strong. Again and again, you kept strong.
But it was long enough. Seventeen years was long enough. So after you graduated from Hogwarts, you found an apartment and cried. You cried for hours, cried yourself to sleep, cried the next day, and the next, and the next…
I couldn't do it anymore. So I did something I will both regret and be glad for.
I broke the rules. I rose from the dead and comforted you.
"Harry, honey, it's okay. I'm here for you, I understand. I'm so, so, sorry."
"M-mom?"
"Yes."
"B-but…you're dead…"
"I know. But I couldn't watch my baby cry like this."
"You can come back from the dead?"
"Yes-but for a price."
"A-a price?"
"I…I will be punished."
"But you're dead…"
"The dead can still feel pain."
"You mean…"
Yes, Harry.
I will be tortured.
But I had to see you. I had to make it up to you. Thanks to me, you had a horrible childhood.
All because of me.
So, you see, torture, really, is not an unfair punishment. I deserve it.
You don't though. A young boy like you did not deserve this. So, I had to tell you I was sorry, tell you I loved you, tell you everything would be all right.
Tell you that the weight of the world was not on your shoulders anymore.