"Dad, why is everyone always so sad around this time of year?"
Harry sighed and looked at his youngest son. At nine years old, Albus Potter was far more inquisitive and perceptive than his older brother had ever been. Harry had known it was only a matter of time before the quiet boy picked up on the family's somber tome around the beginning of May. James, despite being almost finished with his first year of Hogwarts, had not come to Harry or Ginny with questions about the Second Wizarding War. This was not surprising to the two, however, seeing as the boy more likely than not slept through his History of Magic class. Harry supposed that Binns could make even Voldemort's rise and defeat seem boring; he certainly portrayed goblin revolutions as dreary. James had always been more oblivious than his brother, though. It would be out of character for him to notice a change in behavior in his family, especially now that he was at Hogwarts at this time of year. Harry's firstborn preferred conversations about Quidditch or pranking to those about feelings or history. And that was what it was, Harry mused, history. It had been seventeen years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the death of so many dear friends, people Harry had come to think of as family. Seventeen years and everyone was still feeling their absence. Harry looked down to see his son staring at him, waiting patiently for an answer. He sighed again and sat down in the armchair in front of the fireplace, pulling Albus onto his lap.
"What have you noticed?" He asked the small boy, knowing how observant his son could be and wanting to know how much he had to explain.
"Well none of the adults smile when they think no one is looking and everyone mopes about. You and Mum hug more, and last year I heard Grandma Weasley say that Uncle George locks himself in his room and refuses to talk to anyone." Albus paused for a moment to rearrange himself on his father's lap, and then continued. "Grandpa Weasley sits in his chair staring at old photographs then makes up some irrelevant response when we ask him about it. No one is ever happy."
Harry marveled internally at how much Albus had picked up; everyone tried their hardest not to let the children see how distraught they were. He regarded his son for a minute before starting.
"I was going to wait until you were older to tell you about this, but I recon you're old enough. When I was younger, a little younger than our Teddy is now, the war against Voldemort was at its peak. You remember who Voldemort is, what I told you about him?"
Albus nodded. "He was the horrible man that wanted some wizards and witches like Aunt Hermione to suffer because they were different."
"Right, him. Well this is skipping to the end, but right before his defeat the Battle of Hogwarts occurred. The battle…"
To Albus' concern, his father's voice cracked and he trailed off, staring at something in the distance the boy suspected no one else could see.
"You don't have to talk about this," Albus told his father quickly, looking at him with increasing worry.
Harry hurried to assure his son that it was fine; he was just reliving some painful memories and needed a minute. Albus, not wanting his father to have to relive memories that upset him but wanting to hear the story, stayed silent. After a while, Harry started again.
"Voldemort was defeated in the Battle of Hogwarts, but before his demise his army of death eaters stormed the castle looking for… well, looking for me. Voldemort wanted me dead, see, and he didn't care who got in his way while looking for me-he killed anyone and everyone that stood against him. He… He was a horrible man, Al. A horrible man."
Albus was staring up at his father with wide eyes, silently willing him to continue.
"Many of our friends died in that battle. Teddy's Mum and Dad, my good friends were killed. Your Uncle George… George used to have a twin, remember? His name was Fred, and they did everything together. They loved pranking and getting into trouble. They knew Hogwarts inside and out, all the secret passageways, all the hidden rooms. They were best friends. Fred died in the battle too. He-" Harry's voice broke again.
Albus silently hugged his father, noticing in alarm that even as Harry's arms encircled him, he could feel the top of his head become wet. He had only seen his father cry once, when Mum had gotten into a bad broom accident and they had just been told that she would make a full recovery. Those had been tears of relief, and James and Albus had cried with him. This was worse, somehow.
"Sorry Al," Harry said with a watery chuckle, ruffling his son's hair. "Didn't mean to get you all wet."
Albus smiled up at him shyly. He didn't know what to say. What were you supposed to say when your dad cries on you? Harry wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.
"So that's why everyone's sad, bud. We lost a lot of people we love a while ago on this day, and it isn't the same without them." He gave Albus a sad smile and another hug. "But we're okay. Your Mum is still here, and now I have you and James and Lily. What more could I want? Now why don't you run along and play with your sister? I'm sure she'd love some company."
Albus gave his dad a quick hug and jumped off his lap, running from the room. When he reached the door, he turned back to face Harry.
"Thanks, Dad," he said quietly with a small smile. Harry was left sitting in his armchair, remembering all those who had died all those years ago.