Chapter 1:
Albus Potter took in a shaky breath as he gazed at his father through stinging eyes. Harry was laying in a sterile bed in St. Mungo's and his breath was coming no easier than his son's. Albus looked around the quiet room. He looked to his left at his sister's tear streaked face, to her left, at his brother's, that he could tell was struggling to hold in a mountain of emotion, and across the bed at his mother, whose face was twisted in an expression of grief that was impossible to fathom. He looked at the white walls that seemed to amplify the overly cheery light of the rising sun coming in through the windows and from the candles suspended in the air. Albus studied the wilting flowers and hundreds of cards coming in from all over the world for "The Boy Who Lived". They didn't know him, Albus thought bitterly, They're not mourning him, they probably haven't even thought about him for 30 years. The hacking coughs of his weakened father penetrated his thoughts. His eyes continued searching the walls for something new on the blank surface, there was nothing, of course, but Albus couldn't bring himself to look at his father. He could smell the sickly sweet and dirty smell of decaying flowers. It mixed with the scent of cleaning supplies to create an unpleasant stench. He focused on that smell, trying to distract himself. He shifted in his uncomfortable chair and let his hand rest on the scratchy, stiff sheets of his father's bed.
He finally looked back at Harry. He shook and suddenly found it difficult to breathe. A weight pressed down on his chest and silent tears traced their way down his cheek. He might have been a grown man, but his dad had always been a strong, warm figure in his life. He had always taken care of Albus, but there he was, lying in a hospital bed, frail, weak, and dying. Harry took a shuddering breath and began trying to speak.
"Ginny," he coughed before continuing in a weak voice "I'm sorry I couldn't give you everything you deserved".
"No. You were-", her voice cracked and she couldn't continue.
He turned to his three children and said, "I love you all. I'm sorry-", he stopped to cough, "I'm sorry I wasn't a better father to you".
"You were- are a wonderful father", Lily comforted.
"Yeah, the best", James added. Albus knew it was his turn to say something, but the words died in his throat. He swallowed and nodded.
Harry smiled sadly. Albus watched his father exhale one more time. He watched Harry's chest deflate shakily. He watched the hand that was in his mother's go limp. He watched the weak light in his eyes fade. Albus watched the last bit of life leave his father, and he knew that the Boy Who Lived lived no more.