Preface
August 31, 1991.
“A rare, fine day,” I thought to myself as I placed the freshly cut tubers into the crucible. The brown ripples were still bubbling, and the afternoon sun cast a faint silhouette upon them. After a few days of rain, the sun had finally peeked shyly from behind the clouds. Although sunlight is generally avoided in potion storage, exposure to sunlight is beneficial for certain potions, allowing them to absorb solar energy.
At that moment, a chorus of footsteps mixed with laughter gradually approached. Although students were still on holiday, the school was abuzz today. With the new term approaching, the staff’s excitement was increasingly difficult to hide. Yes, in just a week—just one week—we would once again see the face of "the boy who lived" and behold the his glory! How foolish, I couldn't help but laugh aloud. The so-called savior was just an ordinary boy. I never believed in the myth of a savior, just as I had never practiced any religion. People are always so superstitious, as if gods could truly bring them something. I could even predict how the boy would be treated when he arrived—he would undoubtedly become as foolish and arrogant as his father. But speaking of which… what has the boy become after ten years?
Fragments of memories, in a chaotic and bizarre form, began to take shape in my mind. I blinked in time to halt the flow of recollections—this was one of the basic skills required of a mind-sealer.
The sunlight momentarily stung my eyes. Glancing at the clock, it was already three o’clock. If I didn’t go to the meeting room soon, I would create the first tardiness in my teaching career.
“Come in, Severus,” Dumbledore said as he sat in the chair at the front, lifting his teacup and smiling at me, “What a lovely afternoon, isn’t it?”
The three o’clock sun was no longer as intense as at noon but filtered through the windowpanes, gently illuminating the entire classroom. The air was filled with the uniquely sweet scent of English tea from the old man’s cup—I hardly considered it tea; it was merely a mixture of excessive sugar and water.
“Unfortunately, I can’t enjoy such an afternoon,” I wrinkled my nose and said, “The cloying sweetness of sugar makes one dizzy. Thank you for this specially arranged meeting; spending the whole afternoon under saccharine and drowsiness is quite an experience.”
“Ah, one must indulge in their old age once in a while,” Dumbledore chuckled, lowering his head to sip his tea. His dismissive attitude only heightened my irritation as the meeting was bound to be lengthy.
Ha, what is “rare”? What is “indulgence”? It’s likely that as headmaster, he secretly spends most of the budget on sugar, leaving only meager wages for the poor staff. I never understood why this old man had so many peculiarities. If he continued to indulge, I would have to make him more free tooth potions than ever before.
I want to state that I am deeply weary and resentful of the teaching profession. Overworked and enduring the students’ stupidity, my salary has never increased by a single penny.
With this bit of apprehension and complaint, I took my seat as other professors did the same. Unlike previous meetings, today’s whispers were incessant. Everyone was excited and thrilled about the arrival of the little savior, but I remained unmoved.
Even Dumbledore couldn’t hide his anticipation, his wrinkled face glowing with excitement. He cleared his throat, and the meeting began.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “Before we proceed with the routine matters, there is a special announcement to make.” He paused, waiting for the classroom to quiet down.
“As you all know, the name of the famous boy—Harry Potter—appears on this year’s new student list. I’m sure you are all quite familiar with his story. I believe that, faced with such a renowned eleven-year-old, our most important task is to treat him the same as any other child. Harry Potter is just a child; I do not wish to see him receive different treatment…”
During his speech, people nodded lightly. Dust on their clothes floated in the sunlight, drifting in the murky air and falling into profound memories, murmuring those… those sounds that had long since vanished and would never return.
Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Harry, Harry… Back to that night ten years ago, empty streets, tumbling trash bags, flickering street lamps, torn Halloween banners, scattered candy, half-collapsed stairs… At the end of the street, heavy and rapid breathing, pushing open that sagging door…
The events of that night in Godric’s Hollow were fresh in everyone’s memory, but only I had truly witnessed its harrowing reality.
The gentle, fragmented sunlight tore memories into pieces, and my thoughts had already jumped beyond the lengthy and monotonous afternoon.
At last, reaching the end of the corridor, I entered the bedroom. As I stepped into the room, both my thoughts and heartbeat came to a halt. Trembling, I collapsed amidst the ruins. Not far from me, the baby's cries were loud. The murder had left only a bleeding scar on the child’s forehead, but it had not taken his life.
The child was the only survivor. I saw his mother, powerless, collapsed before the crib. It seemed I had arrived here before the corpse began to decay; her fragrance had not yet faded. I forgot how I came to her side. Her long hair was still as fiery red as a flame, but soon the last flicker of light would extinguish. Her face remained beautiful, but ten years had passed… Her last remains had long been consumed by decay, leaving only that cold grave… How long has it been since I last visited her grave…
There was Lily, with her softly curled red hair, leaning against a sturdy tree trunk, smiling at me in the twilight; there was Lily, in her Gryffindor robes, the badge of student council president gleaming on her chest; there was Lily, by the afternoon window, her green eyes gently scanning the pages of a book; there was Lily, in a fluffy nightgown, sprawled on the carpet, lifeless.
To her sister, she was Lily; in the classroom, she was Miss Evans; after marriage, she was Mrs. Potter; but to me, she would forever be that little lily smiling at me with her green eyes.
Lily, my light of life, my fire of desire, my dream, my all.
Gently placing my tongue against the roof of my mouth, moving it down twice:
Lily—Lily—
Lily.