Harry was sitting at the dining room table with the latest edition of the Daily Prophet in front of him. It was Christmas Eve, the second day out of the hospital and everyone was already in bed for the night. Some of his coworkers at the Auror's office were kind enough to clean up the house before his family returned from their first visit. A couple of them left some "Get Well Soon" cards and a box of Fudge Flies as well.

He sighed as he stared at a photo of his own face on the front cover. The headline of the Prohpet was printed in great bold print: Greyback Attacks Potter! The Subheading read: Harry Potter hospitalized after wanted werewolves breaks into his home! He shook his head. He knew this wouldn't be kept quiet. When he first walked out of his hospital room with his family, he was instantly bombarded by journalists and photographers. He refused to comment on anything. Though his life has been posted in the Prophet numerous times, it still didn't please him to see his face posted everywhere again.

Thankfully, when he returned home, everything seemed cheerful again. His whole family surprised him when he opened the front door. His mother-in-law came to their house with a large spread of food she prepared herself and they all enjoyed an early Christmas together. He and Ginny, though, insisted that their kids wait to open their presents until Christmas morning, keeping with tradition.

The only thing that dimmed the bright light of joy in the house was Albus. He didn't stop anyone from having a good time, but Harry noticed he barely talked at all. He was growing more concerned about his son as the bags under his eyes grew slightly more prominent and he seemed to lack focus on almost anything. He stayed with the family while they were here, but he still avoided looking at Harry. All he wanted to do was to reach out to his son, but he didn't think doing it in present company would be very wise. Not to mention the fact that he wanted to avoid engaging in another argument like the last one.

Harry, therefore, opted to give his son time. He wasn't going to force anything from anyone. He would be ready when his son is ready.

And it seemed like he was ready now.

"D-Dad?"

Harry looked up from the paper to see his son standing by the door to the dining room. He was finally looking straight at Harry. There was fear in his tired eyes.

"Albus? You should be in bed. It's late."

Albus didn't speak. He continued staring at his father. His hand was on the doorframe. It was shaking.

"Albus?" Harry turned more, putting the paper down on the table. "Are you alright?" His concern was growing.

He slowly stood up. Albus' whole body began trembling. His face held two distinct expressions: terror and sadness.

"Albus, what's wrong?" Harry asked, lowering his voice and stepping forward.

Finally, Albus cracked.

"Dad!" he let out a muffled cry as he bolted to his father, wrapping his arms tight around him.

Harry was momentarily dazed and confused. He tried to regain his footing for he almost lost balance.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Harry stammered. "Easy, son. What-?"

Harry stopped mid-sentence as he felt his son shaking horribly. He slowly felt a slight dampness seeping through the front of his shirt.

Albus was crying.

Taken aback, Harry wrapped one arm around his son and ran his other hand through his hair in comfort.

"Albus," he whispered in a low, soothing voice. "Albus, calm down. It's okay."

"No!" Albus replied, slightly muffled from his face buried in his father's shirt. "It's not okay. You- you could have died! You almost died!"

Harry blinked and sighed.

"I'm alright. I promise, I'm okay."

"I yelled at you." Albus was rambling, seemingly unaware of what his dad said. "I told you I wish you weren't my dad! That was the last thing I would have said to you if- if you'd… And- and the blanket! It was a gift and I treated it like it was nothing! If you had… if you had died… that's all I'd have left of you! I wish I had never said those things. I wish I never acted that way! I don't care if I'm not as good as you were at school! I should be proud of having a dad like you! I don't deserve to be your son! I was horrible to you! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Dad!"

Harry lowered himself and his son to the floor, never relinquishing his grip.

"Albus," Harry started patiently, "please, calm down. It's alright."

Albus hiccupped a couple times, but continued.

"I- I've… I've seen you dead…"

"What? I don'-"

"Every night! Every time I close my eyes! I see you lying on the floor like that! I see you covered in blood! Your face was white. Mom would be crying over you. Lily kept crying for you. I'd- I'd see your funeral. Everyone was crying. Then- then they all glared at me! They- they kept saying 'How could you treat your father like that?'" He sobbed.

"Shh… shhh, calm down."

"That-that's why I- I couldn't look at you." He sniffed. "I- I kept seeing you dead. I kept thinking about what I said. I couldn't stop thinking about what I did."

"Shh… Albus, please. Just take a deep breath, okay?"

Between sobs, Albus attempted to breathe deeply. It shook, but it was a start.

"That's it, just calm down."

"You- you c-can call me Al, again. If-if you want. I-I don't mind anymore."

Harry smiled to himself.

"If that will help you feel better."

The two simply sat there for a while. Albus' sobs began to subside and he wasn't shaking as bad anymore. Harry was content with just holding his son, again, rubbing his back and stroking his hair.

"You know," Harry whispered, a small smile forming again, "your mother told me how you helped while waiting at the hospital."

Albus paused for a moment, confused. He didn't remember doing anything. He just remembered feeling numb and guilty.

"H-how?"

Harry squeezed him a little before continuing.

"She told me that you noticed everyone being so quiet. According to her, you made tea for her and James and a mug of hot chocolate for Lily."

"But… I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I just… I had some and… it felt nice…"

"And you wanted to help them feel better, too?"

Albus nodded into his father's shoulder. Harry chuckled.

"Well, it worked, didn't it? You got your mother to smile even though she must have been worried sick. She said James was close to snapping at anyone until he saw you offering him a drink. Sometimes the simplest act can have the biggest affect. One small glass of tea can be a big condolence."

"… and… and a small blanket… can be a great source of comfort."

"Ha, something like that."

There was a moment of silence before Albus spoke again.

"I'm sorry I didn't write back all term."

"It's alright, son. It's alright."

Harry sat there with his son for a while longer. The warm weight against his chest was more than welcome. He wanted to wait until Albus broke the hug to make sure he was alright. No matter how long it took.

After several long minutes, Harry registered that his son was no longer shaking. He was calm and relaxed.

"Do you feel better, now?" Harry whispered, but there was no response.

Slightly suspicious, Harry shifted slightly to get a better look at his son's face.

Albus, exhausted both mentally and physically, had cried himself to sleep in his father's arms.