Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Harry Potter Universe. No copyright infringement intended.

AN: The story is set in 2032, and is focused mainly around the OC, Alex Potter. It's not a typical love story, but a story of how a son comes to understand his father by seeing him through his mother's eyes.

I

There was no sound of music.

That was the first thing he noticed when he stepped through the doors of the old new house, intent on officially calling it a day and curling up with his wife in front of the television.

But there was no music. There was always music.

Alex Potter stepped through the front door and gently shut it behind him. As quietly as he could, he set his shoulder bag down and drew his wand. Silence was never a good sign in this Potter house.

"Kate?" he called out, gripping his wand tighter as he stalked through the entrance hall. "Kate? Honey, are you home?" Alex had to bypass several still-unpacked boxes as he moved further into the house. "Kate?"

"Up here."

Alex's eyes snapped upwards and he spotted his wife at the top of the stairs. She was dressed in baggy sweat pants and his Quidditch jersey. She was barefoot with her strawberry blonde hair in a messy bun. Really, he didn't think she'd ever looked more
beautiful.

"Katherine May," Alex said, pocketing his wand. "Crazy girl, what are you doing to my heart?"

"Come up here," she said, bouncing slightly.

Alex peeled off his jacket and dropped it onto a box marked for the kitchen. "Why is it so quiet in here?" he asked, as he made his way towards the stairs. He climbed them two at a time, reaching her in lessthan ten seconds.

"I didn't even notice," she just managed to say, before she was lifted off the ground. "Alex!" she squealed, gripping his upper arms.

He was quick to set her back down, his grin contagious. He gave her a chaste welcome-home kiss before looking around. "What are you doing up here?"

Kate dropped her gaze for a moment. "Well, you see, when I was speaking to your dad earlier, he may have mentioned that there were things in the attic that he wanted to get from us."

Alex frowned. "The attic?"

"That's the room in the roof of a house," she teased.

He huffed. "I know what an attic is," he said, clearly unimpressed. "What could possibly be up there?"

"Exactly my thought," she said, removing herself from his embrace and starting down the corridor. "I've kind of been up there since I got off the phone with Harry. I've found some amazing things."

Alex had no choice but to follow her. "What kind of things?"

"Notes. Journals. Pictures," she informed him. "I even found some of your old artwork."

Alex groaned. "Oh Merlin, please no."

"Oh yes," she sing-songed.

"I'll burn them, you know?"

"No you won't," she shot back, looking at him over her shoulder. "You'd break Harry's heart."

"What heart?" he muttered.

She stopped walking and turned to look at him, fire burning in her eyes. "You take that back right now."

He sighed. "Fine. But he's said nothing to me about the news," he said. "I mean, other than giving us this house; it's like he doesn't care."

Kate frowned. "Of course he cares," she said. "It's just hard for him."

"What? What is so hard, when it's happening to us?"

"But it's not just happening to us, Alex," she countered gently. "I'm sure that Harry didn't want to be a single father, and it's probably even more daunting being a single grandfather."

Alex let out a long breath. "It's about Mum then?"

Kate laid a hand on his chest. "Isn't it always?"

He put a hand over hers. "I'm not really mad," he admitted. "I mean, I was, but I'm not anymore. I just wish he'd been more excited."

"When has your father ever been excited?"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging. "Right now, you know him better than I do."

She let out a light laugh. "Maybe we should have him over for dinner before we throw our housewarming party," she suggested. "It could also be that he feels like you're just growing up so fast and he doesn't know how to handle it."

"You're making it sound like I just left the house," he commented dryly.

"And was Harry excited about that?"

Alex needn't have thought back. He knew his father hadn't wanted Alex to go on his year-long trip around the world, but he'd put a smile on his face and given his blessing regardless.

As he had when Alex told him that he was about to become a father.

"Do you think he's worried for me?" Alex eventually asked, his voice coming out as barely a whisper. "Because he's never really thought he was a good dad, but he was great. He still is."

"The two of you definitely have to talk about it," Kate concluded, before she grabbed hold of his hand. "Now, come on, there are things I want to show you."

Alex allowed her to pull him along, and he followed her up the ladder into the large attic of Potter Manor. It spanned the East Wing of the house, which was the area that Alex and Kate decided to occupy. The West Wing was where he'd lived when he was
a child.

It wasn't as dusty in the attic as he imagined it would be. He suspected that there were long-lasting preservation charms in place. He wondered if they were cast by his mother. His eyes followed Kate as she headed towards one corner, where several boxes
were now open.

"I found this box of old books," Kate informed him. "I thought they were your standard textbooks, but they're not. On the inside covers, they all say: Property of Hermione Granger."

Alex's breath caught in his throat.

"They're all sorts of books," Kate went on to explain, dropping to her knees and peering into the box. "All sorts of novels, old and new texts, and quite a few baby books, which actually say Hermione Potter. She must have done a lot of reading during
her pregnancy."

Alex just blinked.

"Are you even listening?" Kate asked, glancing at him.

Alex snapped out of his trance and looked at her. It had been a long time since he heard his mother's name. Even his father didn't use it. When he was conscious, at least.

"Alex?"

He started towards her, and knelt down beside her. "You said something about journals?"

Kate pointed to a pile of notebooks to her right. "They're early ones," she said. "I didn't read anything; I just looked at the dates."

He placed a hand on her back. "It's okay," he said gently.

"I know what she means to you," she said. "I've never wanted to overstep."

"It's okay," he said again.

Kate returned her attention to the box, while Alex shuffled around her to get to the small pile of journals. He already had several of his mother's journals in his possession, though they were from around the time after the end of the Second Wizarding
War.

It was one of the only ways he learned of the life his mother once lived.

Once he reached the pile, he sat down on his bottom and crossed his legs. Finally settling, he reached for a journal, absently noting that this one started in September of 1993, while his parents were still in school.

Alex couldn't stop his smile. He would know Hermione Granger's handwriting just about anywhere and, as much as he was tempted, he didn't start to read. He would locate the earliest journal first, and then begin to go through all of them.

"Oh," Kate said, getting his attention.

"Oh what?" he asked, looking up.

She was looking at the first page of a foreign notebook. "Umm, this one is from 2004."

He frowned. "What?"

"2004, Alex. This journal is from 2004."

"That's not possible," he said, shuffling back towards her. "Her journals stop when they got married. She even said so in her last journal. She said it was her last."

"Do you mind?" Kate asked, seeking permission.

"Go ahead," he said, moving so that he was kneeling behind her, looking over her shoulder.

2nd August 2004

Dear Baby Potter

It's your mother here. Today, this day, the eight of August, is the day that I found out that you're going to exist. You are, in fact, the first one to know. I haven't even told my mother, let alone your father.

I suppose I'm still in a bit of shock. Don't misunderstand me; I'm thrilled. We've been trying for a while now - please be old enough to understand what that means by the time you read this - and so I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it's finally happening.

We're having a baby. We're having you.

If I'm being honest - and I intend to be - I don't know why I've decided to write this letter to you. I haven't written for years, and I stand by the reasons that I stopped. Sometimes I felt like I spent too much time writing my life down rather than living it, but I intend to write to you. This won't be the last letter, that's for sure.

I do hope you won't find it too strange when you're older. I suppose I just want you to know that I've loved you from the moment I found out about you; from the moment I decided we were ready to have a baby.

Alex stopped reading, his heart thumping in his chest. "It's not a journal," he whispered. "It's a letter."

"To you."

"To me," he agreed, sitting back on his heels as if he'd just had the wind knocked out of him.

Kate closed the notebook and turned to look at him. "Are you all right?"

He shook his head, but he didn't speak.

"Oh, baby," Kate said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. Maybe we shouldn't have come up here."

"No," he said, offering her a small smile. "It's okay. I'm okay."

Kate shook her head, before she struggled to her feet. "Come on," she said. "Let's go make dinner. Baby Potter is starving."

Alex blinked. Baby Potter.

Kate didn't wait for a response from him as she pulled him to his feet and led the way out of the attic. He made sure she got down the ladder safely before he followed her down, and then further down to the kitchen.

Kate intended to keep him occupied, and cooking dinner together was one way of doing it. He was definitely distracted, but she made no comment. He was, unfortunately, a lot like his father that way.

The silent type.

A brooder.

Kate knew that he would talk to her about it all when he was ready.

After they ate dinner, Kate offered to do the dishes, and Alex disappeared up the stairs. She did not follow him when she was done, choosing rather to put on some music and relax in the living room with a book. He would let her know if he needed her.

Alex, meanwhile, was back in the attic. He suspected that Kate knew exactly where he was but he just knew that she would leave him be for now.

He headed straight towards the one journal. If it even was a journal. He sat down with the notebook, brought his knees up to his chest and started to read from where they left off.

But a person is never really ready, are they? When your Uncle Ron and Aunt Luna had Phillip, I remember them being overwhelmed by just how much work a baby actually is. The first night we babysat for them, I was exhausted. And it had been for only a few hours.

I'm worried, and a little scared. I'm only twenty-four after all. What do I know?

Okay, I know a lot, about obscure things mainly, but I don't know how to be a mother. What if I'm bad at it? What if we're about to bring this baby into the world, only to ruin him or her? I wonder if this is what every new almost-parent feels.

Shall I tell you how I found out about you? It's a rather odd story, involving your Uncle Ron and his favourite mashed potatoes. Oh, how he loves his mash. I'm normally a fan as well.

Anyway, I was having lunch with your Uncle Ron, your Aunt Ginny and their mother, Molly, today. Your father was busy on a case, and I was over at the Burrow for a quick meal before I had to get back to St Mungo's.

So we were having mashed potatoes. I haven't been feeling that well this whole week, and then just THOSE potatoes. I felt so sick and ended up throwing up on Ron. Merlin, it was awful.

If Baby Potter ends up a girl; I'm terribly sorry. Life is hard as a girl. And if you do end up a boy; please bear that in mind. Be kind to us.

And then there was the laundry room. Can you believe it? The laundry detergent. I couldn't stomach it. Your father told me it was just the normal one we always used, but it made me throw up.

So, when I mentioned it all to Molly, she made a teasing comment that I might be pregnant. We all laughed.

I'm still laughing.

When I got back to St Mungo's, I couldn't stop thinking about what Molly said. I've never really been all that regular - if you know what that means - but I decided to take a test anyway. The Muggle way. I was not about to point a wand at my abdomen and see what happened - in case Molly was right. So I left work and went to the pharmacy near our apartment. I bought seven tests.

All of them were positive.

And so here we are. I'm going to be a mother, provided everything goes to plan. We're going to be parents. And, as frightening as that is, I'm so happy. I actually can't wait.

I can't wait for you to get here, so I can meet you.

But I should probably tell your father now, shouldn't I? He asks me from time to time, how I'm feeling. I know he wants a family of his own, and I'm literally giddy that I get to give him one. Because of that, I'm thinking that I want to announce it to him in a special way.

Any ideas? How would you want your father to find out about you? I'll have to think about it. Get creative. Which, incidentally, has never really been my strong-suit. Books and cleverness; that's me.

I'll keep you posted about his reaction. I'm excited for it. He might even cry.

But, don't you worry, Baby Potter. You just enjoy your time in there, all right? I'll take care of you.

Love,

Your Mother

P.S. I'm your mother. Oh Merlin, I'm your mother. Pinch me.

Alex finished with the letter and was surprised to find Kate sitting in the attic's hatch, her feet dangling down into the corridor.

"Hey you," he said, blinking. "How long have you been sitting there?"

"You're crying, Alex."

His left hand flew up to his cheeks and, indeed, he felt the tears. "Oh."

"I think you should come downstairs now," she said, her tone gentle. "Mrs Potter is missing her husband."

Alex waited a beat before he rose to his feet and made his way towards her, the notebook tucked under his arm.

"I love you, Alexander Potter," she said, before she disappeared through the hatch

He followed her down and lifted the ladder, closing the hatch off to the rest of the house. It was as if he was closing off the journals as well. Closing off the past; closing off the painful loss of the mother he couldn't even remember.

Alex didn't get back to the notebook until much later. Kate crawled into bed first, while Alex moved through the house, making sure that everything was locked up and secure. They'd been robbed twice while they stayed in their one-bedroom apartment in
London, and Kate was still paranoid.

Alex knew they weren't in danger here; in the house his father bought when his parents first started their family, but he would do anything he could to make sure his wife was comfortable. His father was able to teach him that without even having a wife
to show him.

By the time Alex made it to their new master bedroom, Kate was already asleep, her one leg encroaching on his side of the bed.

He stood over their bed, spying the now-famous journal on his night table. He wanted to read more. He was almost desperate to find out what more she wrote. Because there was more in there. If he knew anything about his mother, it was that she loved to
write words. The same way he loved to write music.

As silently as he could, Alex picked up the journal and left the room, making sure he didn't close the door completely, in case Kate woke up. He made his way down the corridor, right across the house to the West Wing until he came to what was his bedroom
when he was growing up.

It was exactly as he remembered it being when he left home for the final time the summer after he graduated from Hogwarts. Alex entered the room and crossed to his bed, casually dropping down as if he'd never left. There were still Quidditch posters up
on the walls, and sheets of music from his teenage days pinned up on his noticeboards.

He eventually propped himself up against his many pillows and, once again, brought his knees up to his chest. He rested the journal on his chest and knees, opened it up, and proceeded to read.

24th August 2004

I was right!

Auror Extraordinaire, Harry James Potter dropped to his knees and cried tears when I finally told him about you. As much as I tried to come up with a really clever way of letting him know, it ended up falling a bit flat.

See, today is our two-year wedding anniversary and, being who he is, your father decided to take me out for a romantic dinner. After such a romantic day, actually. He's a bit of a romantic, that one. I woke up to breakfast in bed and roses upon roses.

As much as he tried to get me to skip work today, I couldn't. My patients needed me today and I'm sure he already knew that.

He did, however, turn up at St Mungo's the minute the clock struck five o'clock, ready to whisk me away. He barely gave me time to get dressed before we went to the restaurant. Until that point, I'd managed to avoid all his questions about the throwing up and the laundry detergent.

But then there was the wine. At home, I was able to use my wand to disguise my drink but then, in the restaurant, I couldn't be conspicuous when it came to him, and I was forced to tell him.

And, right there, in that restaurant, he practically fell off his chair, buried his face in his hands and sobbed. From happiness, mind you. I was forced to cast a Notice-Me-Not on us; he was drawing so much attention.

I anticipated his reaction, but it still surprised me. He was just so happy. It was as if his entire life built up to this very moment, and I was able to give it to him. I feel both privileged by and, well, afraid of it. I'm the one to give him everything he's ever wanted. When you're in my position, you'll understand.

Though, you had best be of age and completely secure emotionally, physically and financially before you even consider having children. Are we clear? Good.

Then he thanked me. Repeatedly.

I told him that I want at least three children, to which he said he would give me anything I ever wanted. I swear, Baby Potter, I don't think we could have found a better husband and father. We're definitely lucky.

We abandoned our meal after that. I'm sure, if you're old enough, you can guess why that was. He's asleep now, and I'm writing this letter at the little secretary desk we have in our bedroom. It's this adorable thing we found in the Potter family vault, made of this wonderful, dark natural wood.

The desk belonged to his mother who, I'm afraid, you will never meet, but she truly was a wonderful woman. Your father put the desk in here because he claims that he likes to watch me work. When I asked him why he then didn't put our little piano in our bedroom; he had no response.

He's a bit of an odd one, your father, but we love him. I suspect that he just wanted something that belonged to his mother close to him, but he was too embarrassed to say so. Let's vow right now not to be afraid of our feelings, all right?

He'd blush scarlet if I ever asked him to talk about his feelings.

Anyway, so I'm glad he knows. It's been difficult keeping it from him. We talked it out, and we've decided that we're going to wait until you and I are three months along before we break the news to the rest of the family. It's apparently what people do, because many things can go wrong in the first trimester.

I'm trying not to think about that too much. I already told you not to worry. I'll take care of you.

And to do that, I should probably get to bed as well. I know I don't yet know you, but I do love you so, Baby Potter. Without even being here, you're already bringing such joy to our lives. Don't worry about the tears. He cries when he's happy, otherwise you never know what he's feeling. The broody marshmallow.

Don't you worry. I'll make sure he stays that way.

Love,

Your Mother

This time around, Alex wasn't surprised by the tears. This was his mother, and it was like she was talking to him. He could practically hear her voice, as he was sometimes sure he remembered, and as he heard in the Pensieve memories from his father.

He leaned his head back and let out a long breath. He wasn't even sure that he wanted to keep reading. Even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop now. He craved for anything and everything to do with his mother. He always had. He just
wanted to be close to her.

6th September 2004

Dear Baby Potter

It's officially three months. We made it. We did it.

And, as a result, I had brunch with my mum this morning, and I told her that she's going to be a grandmother. She didn't cry, though she did come quite close. It was wonderful. I don't think I'll ever forget today.

Her face. Her expression. I've accomplished numerous things in my life, but I've never seen that look of pride on her face before. I don't think I can explain it but maybe, one day, you'll be able to ask her. You're going to love her. She's great, though she can be terribly blunt.

Jane Granger doesn't beat around the bush. It's both a blessing and a curse to have such a mother, I think. We've had fights, as you can imagine. Many. I'm even embarrassed to tell you, but you should remember that your father and I had to deal with some very different and dangerous things in our lives. She's never liked that.

God, I wouldn't even know what to do with myself if you ever do some of the things we had to do. I'd probably pull out my own hair. You better be well-behaved.

Who am I kidding? You'll be the grandchild of a Marauder.

Speaking of, I also went to the doctor today with my mum. We're sticking to a Muggle doctor for now because, the moment we show up at St Mungo's for a checkup; the entire Wizarding World will know there's a Baby Potter on the way. One of the drawbacks of being instrumental in the end of the War, I suppose.

It was a relief to hear that all is well, and we're both doing good. My baby is safe and healthy. It's still all I could have asked for.

Your father is leaving on a mission to Australia tomorrow. It should take between a week and ten days. He promises he'll be back for my birthday, but I'm not holding my breath. I get worried when he goes. He can be rather reckless, you see, and he's ended up at St Mungo's one too many times for my comfort.

I know I'll have to talk to him about his being more careful, now that he's going to be a father. I have no intention of raising you by myself. I'd probably end up ruining you.

Imagine Harry by himself. I'm sure he would do well, but I intend on sticking around for a very long time. I might even refrain from sending you to Hogwarts, and actually tutoring you myself. Would that drive you mad? I think it might.

Alex stopped reading. It was as if she knew. Of course she'd probably thought about it. Maybe this was why she started these letters in the first place. Anything could happen and, from what Alex learned about the War; anything could. And did.

I drove your father a little crazy after the War ended. I couldn't stand having him out of my sight. When you read the History books, I'm sure you'll understand why. I suppose, then, it means I'll probably be a cautious mother. Maybe overprotective. We'll see how it goes. I'll do my research.

It's what I'm good at.

Which reminds me: I should get back to this research report I'm the middle of writing. It's about initiating mass production of the newest recipe for Wolfsbane, created and first brewed by, yes, yours truly. It's patented. Your father suggested I use the name Hermione Granger, but I decided on Potter. As difficult as it sometimes is being Harry Potter's wife; I've never been ashamed of it. I'm incredibly proud of it.

It's something I always have to remind myself of. Harry didn't choose this life, but I chose him. You, unfortunately, don't have that luxury, but just trust in my decision. There's nobody better for the two of us. If we're two. My mother might have mentioned that her side of the family has a knack of producing twins. I don't think I could handle two at once, at the first go.

So you better be just one. Our doctor didn't mention anything, so I'm not too worried. Twins would be better than triplets. But if you end up being anything like I remember Fred and George Weasley being; I think I would end up pulling out my own hair.

Speaking of hair. Merlin, I'm worried for you, Baby Potter. My hair is bushy beyond control, and your father's hair... It's messy, untameable, and yet still one of my favourite things about him. All I'm saying is that you're probably going to hate your DNA from time to time. Forgive us. We've tried. Believe me, we've tried.

Maybe I'll have invented some new potion by the time we have to deal with your almost-certain-to-be unruly hair. I'll keep you posted on that.

Don't you worry, okay? I've got you.

Love,

Your Mother

Alex's hand absently moved to run through his own hair. She was right in that it was terribly unmanageable, but it was one of the things that Kate loved most about him. He'd struggled with it, of course, and his father had been sympathetic to a point.
Harry said that, at some point, you just give in; you surrender to the hair and just keep living.

Like a life sentence.

Alex remembered laughing whenever Harry used to comment on his own messy hair. His father always did try to make him laugh. It was only later that Alex realised that it was mainly because Alex had his mother's laugh. At the time, Alex wasn't sure what
to make of it. In the end, he decided it didn't matter to him.

It did no harm, and it resulted in a very happy childhood for him. If his own child could have half as happy a childhood as he had; then he would be doing something right.

As he got older, Alex did lose the laugh, but his father never ceased making sure he was always laughing; always forgetting that his mother was gone and would never be coming back.

It still made him catch his breath whenever he thought about it.

There was this entire woman who he couldn't remember, but held such a dear and large part of his heart. It devastated him that he'd never grown to know her the way all the people around him had. He was jealous of them.

For years, Alex researched, asked questions, read journals and followed in the footsteps of this strange woman who dedicated so much of her life to helping others. He tried to learn all he could about Hermione Granger. It helped that she wrote journals,
and his father gave him access to them; wanting to share as much of her as he could.

She was the reason he started playing piano in the first place. She was the reason he did a lot of things. Whenever he was about to do something, she would pop into his head, and he would ask himself 'What would Hermione Granger do?'

He was the successful man that he was because of both his parents, even if one of them left his life when he was still only fifteen months old.

Alex turned the page of the journal.

20 September 2004

Dear Baby Potter

The clock on the wall says that it's 02:23 in the morning. It's the day after my twenty fifth birthday. I'm twenty-five years old. Quarter of a century. It's scary. I've already lived so much life, but there's so much still to come.

Alex had to stop reading for a moment. His heart was hurting. She should have lived such a long life. She had so much left to do; to give; to experience.

I had to go into work today. One of my nurses, Martha, organised a little staff party for me, and I burst out crying. I've been an emotional mess all week, and I'm embarrassed to admit that it's because I missed your father.

I know. I know. Don't judge me. I spent a few nights with my parents because your father doesn't like it when I stay alone. As if I can't take care of myself.

After work, I stopped by my parents' house for some tea, and then the three of us headed to the Burrow. Molly decided that she was hosting my birthday dinner, and nobody was about to argue with her. It's was odd, though, celebrating without your father.

It also didn't feel right telling them all about the baby without having him there. Molly almost fell off of her chair when I told her she was right when she joked about my being pregnant. You wouldn't be her first grandchild, so you'll have many cousins.

Your father wasn't there because his mission to Australia kept him there for longer than expected, which was annoying. He did send his gift to my office, which was two tickets to the opera in London. He just knows what I like, and I love that he would be willing to sit through something he doesn't quite enjoy just for me.

So I really didn't expect him to come home, and you can imagine my surprise when I came home from dinner at the Burrow to find none other than Auror Potter waiting for me. I screamed and drew my wand, thinking he was an intruder.

Let's just say that we both ended up in heaps of laughter. He came home just in time to wish me happy birthday in person. It turns out that the tickets to the opera weren't the real present.

It was a grand piano. Steinway. The most beautiful, perfect instrument I have ever seen. We're still in our London apartment, which isn't that large, so the white beauty takes up majority of our living room. But I am NOT complaining. It could take the place of our bed, for all I care.

He asked me to play for him. You can't yet hear the music but I intend to play for you when you can. I love to play, and he loves to watch me. We make quite the pair.

And plus, playing piano is a lot safer than playing Quidditch. You heard it here first, kid. Never forget.

Anyway, he may have mentioned that he went a little AWOL, leaving his fellow Aurors at their base, just to see me. He's probably going to get fined or something, but he claimed it was worth it. The little charmer.

He left ten minutes ago. I already miss him. Before you judge me - or possibly roll your eyes, which is a thing I love to do - you'll realise what I mean when you meet him. He's just one of those that you miss.

Alex stopped reading once again. She was right about that, at least. Alex did miss his father. Something had been off between them ever since Alex informed Harry that he was going to become a grandfather, and Alex wasn't sure why. He definitely needed
to talk to his father about all of this.

He doesn't know when he's coming home, which annoys me. Several things annoy me these days. I've definitely got a shorter fuse than usual and, yes, I'm going to blame you. As a result of all my crazy hormones, I'm turning into a basket case.

Who is dead tired. I have work in the morning. At this rate, I'll get four hours of sleep, at best. It's bad form, I know. I definitely should take better care of myself, and you.

But it was my birthday. I should be forgiven.

Don't you worry, all right? I'll do much better.

Love,

Your Mum

Once he was done, Alex leaned his head back again and closed his eyes, replaying all that this day had revealed to him. His breathing slowly evened out and, as he drifted to sleep; he could practically hear his mother repeatedly telling him what he needed
to hear.

Don't you worry.