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“It’s a girl,” the doctor said, and that was the first adjective ever used to describe her — or at least the first one she was aware of. “A healthy little girl.”
When her parents brought her home, the little girl was named Lily. Like the flower. Lily, which symbolised purity and innocence, though that probably wasn’t what her parents meant when they chose the name. When Lily asked why, at around five years old, her father simply said that they liked the way it sounded, they liked flowers, and they certainly liked her. The explanation was enough to satisfy little Lily. Lily. Lily Evans. Lily Evans, whose name her parents picked because they liked her, even before she was born. Lily was first loved by her parents, and she loved them back just as fiercely.
‘Strange’ probably wasn’t the first thing Petunia, her older sister, ever called her. Lily imagined the first word her sister used to address her was likely “sister,” because, after all, that’s what they were. Petunia was her sister, and Lily was Petunia’s sister. Her little sister. Before anything else. Whatever the first word had been, the earliest thing Lily remembered being called was “strange” — long before she even had an inkling as to why she might be strange, why she was different. Still, back then, Petunia called her other things too — besides “sister,” of course. Sometimes, when the two of them were in the same room and Lily showed her some drawings she’d done, Petunia would say they were lovely. She was talking about the drawings, but young Lily liked to think she was talking about her, too. Perhaps, deep down, even if she didn’t show it much, Petunia thought Lily was lovely. Her lovely little sister.
Over time, “strange” turned into something more. Lily wasn’t just strange anymore; she was a freak. Petunia — her older sister, her big sister — thought Lily was a freak. All because she was different. She did things differently. And it wasn’t on purpose — it wasn’t as though Lily was deliberately trying to be a freak, to do things that somehow frightened her sister. They just happened.
Witch. That was probably the first word Severus used to describe her when they met. Severus said he was a wizard too. According to him, Petunia was jealous — jealous and afraid because she wasn’t like them. She wasn’t special. Special. That was another word he used about the two of them — about her. Sev told Lily she wasn’t strange — or maybe she was, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing — and that she certainly wasn’t a freak. She, they, were special. Before long, Lily discovered that, beyond being a witch, she was special — at least to someone.
When Lily was certain — when her letter arrived — that she truly was a witch, her parents said they were proud of her, and that Lily would no doubt be the brightest witch of all. They didn’t entirely understand what Hogwarts was, this school of witchcraft and wizardry she’d be attending in a few weeks, but they were proud nonetheless, and in that moment, Lily wanted to make them even prouder. She was a witch, and she would be the brightest of all. Then her parents — and maybe even Petunia — would be proud of her.
Much to Lily’s dismay, the only thing her sister said when she learned about the letter was that, once again, Lily was a freak. Nothing more, nothing less.
When Lily discovered that Petunia, even after calling her a freak for being a witch, had tried to send letters to be accepted into Hogwarts as well, her first feeling was pity. She probably shouldn’t have pitied her sister, and it wasn’t because Petunia wasn’t a witch — it was because she so desperately wanted to be one. Lily pitied her, even though she didn’t want to. But when Petunia called her a freak again, Lily felt anger instead, and the words tumbled out like venom dripping from her lips: cruel, biting, icy, and deliberate.
That was when Lily — who had been called sister, lovely, sometimes strange, sometimes a freak — was called something new: mean. Lily was mean. And maybe Petunia was right. Maybe Lily was mean. But it was because sometimes it was exhausting to always try to be good, and Lily really did try. She tried to be good.
Gryffindor. When Lily arrived at Hogwarts, that was the word they used for her, the word the Hat used. She already knew what it meant — she’d read about it before term started. Being a Gryffindor meant she was brave, loyal, and daring. Lily liked to think she was — or that she could be — all those things. But at the same time, being a Gryffindor meant she wasn’t a Slytherin, like Severus. Which meant she was alone, just as he was. But they didn’t have to be. They were still friends — they could be. Lily was Severus’ friend, and she liked that. She liked being called a friend.
In time, Lily started being called a friend by others, other Gryffindors. The first was a girl named Mary, a Muggle-born like herself. Muggle-born. That was another term Lily discovered was used to describe her, meaning simply that she was a witch born to non-magical parents. Mary was Muggle-born too, but more than that, Mary was kind, funny, sometimes a bit lazy, but a friend.
Then there was another girl, Marlene. Marlene wasn’t Muggle-born like Lily and Mary were, but that didn’t matter — not to Lily. Marlene was funny too, perhaps a little less kind than Mary, bold, brave, and radiant. Marlene was like the sun — and not just because of her golden hair, but because she exuded that kind of energy. Marlene was a Gryffindor, a pure-blood, meaning she was born to magical parents, and she was also Lily’s friend.
Lily also became friends with a boy — tall, thin, with a gentle smile — named Remus Lupin. Remus wasn’t Muggle-born or pure-blood. He was a half-blood, somewhere in between. Neither one nor the other, but that didn’t matter either. Well, maybe it mattered to other students, perhaps even to some teachers, but it wasn’t something Lily thought about when she sat with him. When Lily was with Remus, she didn’t call him half-blood. She called him funny, soft-spoken, far too lenient, and sometimes even lazy and silly. He’d reply that Lily was far too much of a know-it-all, and not everyone could be like her.
Remus called her a know-it-all sometimes, but when he said it, Lily could tell it was because they were friends. Lily was Remus’ friend, and that meant he felt comfortable enough to tease her.
Other students called Lily a know-it-all too, even other Gryffindors, but not with the same warmth or humour Remus had. Sirius Black and James Potter — two pure-bloods from wealthy wizarding families, everything Lily wasn’t — called her a know-it-all. Know-it-all, stuck-up, annoying. Lily always gave as good as she got, calling them arrogant, idiotic — not in a friendly way — and childish. She said those things knowing she was being mean, exactly what Petunia had once called her, and she hated them a little for making her feel that way.
Lily didn’t like being mean, even though she knew she was. Maybe not all the time, but Lily doubted anyone could ever be one thing all the time.
She was a daughter and a sister and probably always would be. Even when her parents died, even when she or Petunia had to bury the other, Lily would still be a daughter and a sister. But most things didn’t work like that. Lily could be a daughter and a sister all the time, but she probably wasn’t good, kind, lovely, or even mean all the time. But even if it was only sometimes, even if it was only for a moment, Lily didn’t like being mean. Lily didn’t like hurting people.
After a while, Lily was called naive. Severus called her that. He called her naive because she was friends with Remus, and Remus was friends with James, Sirius, and Peter. Peter was also a pure-blood Gryffindor who followed James and Sirius — and, by extension, Remus — around the castle. The four of them had taken to calling themselves the Marauders after Professor McGonagall once referred to them as such. Lily thought it was ridiculous and utterly childish, but they certainly didn’t think so. When she said as much, Sirius retorted that Lily was boring, which was why she didn’t understand the brilliance behind the name.
But Lily was brilliant — or at least she wanted to be. And naming yourself “the Marauders” and going around playing pranks on people seemed far from brilliance. Perhaps she and Sirius simply had different ideas about what it meant to be “brilliant.” If that was his idea, Lily didn’t want to be brilliant in his eyes, nor did she want to be his friend. But Remus was Sirius’ friend, and Lily couldn’t stop that.
Lily tried to explain this to Severus. She was friends with Remus, and Remus was friends with James, Sirius, and Peter — but one thing had nothing to do with the other. The Marauders were childish and played pranks on others. Sometimes Remus joined in, but even so, he was still Lily’s friend, and she wanted him to remain so. Because of this, Severus called her naive. She was naive, he said, because being friends with one of the Marauders would soon lead to being friends with all of them. Lily couldn’t disagree more. She wasn’t friends with them and didn’t want to be. Only with Remus. Lily had Mary and Marlene, who weren’t childish — at least not in the Marauders’ way — and she had Remus. She also had other friends, but Severus didn’t seem to mind those.
He called her naive again when, in the middle of their second year, Lily mentioned she sometimes felt sorry for Sirius. Sirius was arrogant, idiotic, and childish, but she pitied him when she heard the rumours about his family and how they treated him. Those rumours had already circulated in their first year, but by their second year — when Sirius’ younger brother, Regulus, entered Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin, like Severus and the rest of Sirius’ family — Lily saw how upset Sirius became when people pointed out how Regulus received letters and sometimes sweets from their parents, while Sirius only got Howlers.
Lily could think Sirius an idiot, arrogant, and childish, and still feel sorry for him sometimes. But to Severus, that was naive — letting Sirius manipulate her, even though Sirius wasn’t actually doing anything to manipulate her since they hardly spoke. Lily could be many things, but she didn’t think she was manipulable — or at least, she didn’t think so.
Over time, Lily grew accustomed to being called certain things. At home, she was called clever and bright by her parents and a strange freak by her sister. At Hogwarts, she was called intelligent, brilliant, and correct — especially when she got questions right in Professor Slughorn’s class, where he often referred to her as one of the most brilliant witches he’d ever taught. But she was also called “Mudblood.” Lily didn’t know what “Mudblood” meant at first, but when she found out, she felt sad.
Lily was sad because she had thought that, at Hogwarts, she wouldn’t be considered different or a freak anymore. But a large number of students still thought she was a freak — despite being a witch — just because she was born to Muggle parents. So, Lily was a freak to her Muggle sister and a freak to her pure-blood wizard classmates.
Well, not all pure-bloods thought she was a freak. Marlene certainly didn’t think that of her. Even though Marlene was hot-headed and bold, she wasn’t cruel — especially not to Lily. Marlene would never call Lily or Mary “Mudbloods,” because even as a pure-blood, Marlene was different in a good way.
James and Sirius — and probably Peter — wouldn’t call her Mudblood either. They called her annoying, stuck-up, too proper, and boring, but never Mudblood. James, in particular, couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. When other students used it, he always hexed them. And though Lily hated him, she felt a small flicker of satisfaction whenever she saw it. Sometimes he did it when someone said it about her, prompting Lily to snap at him, saying she didn’t need his protection. Other times, he did it to defend other students. No matter what she said to him, deep down, it pleased her.
She hated him — James was everything she said and thought of him: childish, irritating, arrogant, selfish — but at least he didn’t think she was a freak just for being Muggle-born. Lily didn’t mind being hated for being proper, something she chose to be, but it was frustrating to be hated for being Muggle-born.
Later, Lily discovered that, in a strange way she couldn’t quite understand, James might not hate her after all. It would be odd for him to hate her and then ask her out — to go to Hogsmeade with him. Not that she would ever accept. James might not hate her, but Lily certainly hated him.
She hated James for being everything she thought of him — and also for what he did to Severus. How could James be so selfish and childish that he didn’t see how much harm he caused Severus, her friend? How could he say he liked her, wanted to go out with her, and still do those things to her friend?
Severus was her friend. Not just him, but he was. Yet Severus had also started making other friends — friends Lily disapproved of. He called her a bit of a hypocrite for this, saying she was friends with the Marauders (though only Remus, but that didn’t seem to matter to him) while judging him for befriending people in his own house.
But Lily didn’t judge him for having Slytherin friends — she liked the idea of Severus having friends in his house. What she judged were the particular friends he had chosen. They often called Mary and other Muggle-borns “Mudbloods.” Initially, they didn’t say it about Lily, and she wasn’t sure whether to feel glad — thinking that maybe Severus, her friend, was protecting her — or offended that he thought she’d be fine with him having friends who insulted hers, who insulted others, and who clearly thought the same of her but didn’t say it aloud.
Lily didn’t want just herself to be spared from being called Mudblood. She wanted no student to ever use that word. She didn’t want anyone else to feel like a freak.
The first time James said he loved her, even though she hadn't accepted a single one of his invitations to accompany him to Hogsmeade, Lily thought she would never be capable of hating someone as intensely as she hated him. How could he use that word so lightly? How could he even say it while tormenting and hurting Severus, her friend? How could he claim to love her when he didn’t even truly know her? Sure, he might know her from classes, shared friends, or the time spent in the same spaces, but he didn’t know her — not really. How could he say he loved her when he didn’t know her insecurities, her flaws, her hypocrisies? James didn’t know how capable she was of being loving, intense, and kind but also cruel and spiteful. He might have seen her act those ways, but seeing wasn’t the same as understanding. He didn’t know her because she hadn’t let him get close enough to know her. And she didn’t want him to know her, to love her, because she hated him.
She hated the way he loved showing off in the corridors with the golden snitch and how he thought it was charming to ruffle his already messy hair to make it look even messier. She hated the way he seemed to feel superior to everyone, the way he enjoyed feeling superior to Severus — her friend. And she hated the way he could sometimes be kind, helping people, making silly jokes that even Mary and Marlene couldn’t help but laugh at. She hated how inconsistent and contradictory he was. She didn’t want him to love her because she could never love someone like him.
But Lily was capable of loving many people, all of whom were just as inconsistent and contradictory as James, though perhaps in different ways and with varying intensities. The principle was the same. She loved her sister, even when Petunia called her a freak and Lily, in response, was cruel and mean. She loved her parents, even as she felt they didn’t make much of an effort to truly understand her other world — the side of her that was different from the family. Even when they told her she was a brilliant witch and that they were proud of her, Lily couldn’t shake the feeling that things never went beyond the surface — that their interest never extended beyond asking her to do magic tricks (which she couldn’t because of her age) or posing a few random, curious questions about Hogwarts. Even when she felt her parents didn’t truly understand or care about this important part of her, Lily loved them. She loved them with all the intensity one could love someone.
She also loved Severus. Rude, arrogant, mean, childish, vengeful, nosy, kind, intelligent, funny, clever, determined — Severus was inconsistent and contradictory and sometimes so hard to understand, but Lily loved him all the same. She loved him because she knew his sweet side, the side he rarely showed to others, while he knew her bitter side — the side Lily preferred to hide. He knew the worst of her, and he still loved her. And Lily loved him back.
But the thing about love is that it isn’t just one single emotion — it comes with a tangle of other feelings, sensations, as inconsistent and contradictory as the people Lily loved. Loving someone meant that Lily made herself vulnerable, that she would go to great lengths to please those she loved, that she would forgive, ignore, forget, swallow, feel, get hurt, cry, suffer. At the same time, love meant smiling, feeling warmth spread through her, laughing, talking, confessing, healing, and — above all — feeling. Lily felt so much and for so many people that sometimes she wondered how she was even capable of holding so much emotion, of loving so many people all at once.
Sometimes, she wished she could keep only the good parts of love — the warm feelings that came with it — but she couldn’t. And so, when Lily was hurt by her sister, her parents, her friends — or when she hurt them — she believed it was still worth it, because soon the good feelings would return.
But when Lily realised that the bad feelings — the anxiety, the pain, the sadness, the anger — were greater and more frequent than the warmth, the laughter, the smiles, the confessions, and the freedom, she understood it was time to let go. Letting go didn’t have to be permanent — nothing in life had to be — but sometimes it was necessary. And so that’s what she did.
When Severus called her a Mudblood, Lily realised it was time to let him go, at least for a while. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself or to him, and even when he said he was sorry, that he would never say it again, Lily didn’t relent. Impulsive or not, Severus — the boy who had once called her special — had called her a Mudblood. That was what he thought of her. And even though she believed pain, no matter how contradictory, was part of the bundle of emotions people called love, she couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t fair to her.
Lily wasn’t the only one who had to learn how to let go. Sirius, whom she still disliked, had run away from home, leaving behind his entire family and their ideals. He left behind his brother, who believed in those ideals, and even from a distance, Lily could see how that decision had been both liberating and devastating for him. How it had made Sirius feel guilt, sadness, and anger, while at the same time granting him freedom and satisfaction. Feelings that, in different ways and intensities, Lily understood all too well.
Sometimes, Lily would ask her friend, Remus, how he managed to be friends with — how he managed to love — people like James, Sirius, or Peter, and Remus would say it was the same way she was able to love Severus. Because he had seen the worst of her, just as the Marauders had seen the worst of Remus, and yet they still wanted him. That conversation happened for the first time before she drifted away from Severus, before Sirius ran away from home and was taken in by the Potters — by James — and before Lily realised just how serious things were becoming. But Lily kept that conversation in her mind for a long time. At the time, Lily wasn’t sure if Remus was referring to being a werewolf — something they hadn’t talked about but she already knew and didn’t care about, just as the Marauders probably knew and didn’t care about — or if he was talking about something deeper than she imagined.
Well, she imagined — or at least suspected — that Remus felt something more than friendship or platonic love for one of the Marauders in particular: Sirius. But she didn’t know if Remus himself had realised it, or if he’d be comfortable with her bringing it up, so she kept it to herself.
Even as she kept those thoughts and suspicions to herself and didn’t share them with anyone, Lily still thought about them. About the way Remus seemed to love the Marauders, as inconsistent and contradictory as they were, with the same intensity that Lily loved other people. And though she didn’t understand, at the time, how or why he loved them, her curiosity led her to pay closer attention to them — all of them.
The first Marauder Lily grew closer to, after Remus, was Sirius. Sirius was arrogant, impulsive, childish, and all the other things Lily had spent years thinking about him, but he was also fun, loyal, loving, and cared for the people he loved in a way that Lily hadn’t expected from him. He especially cared for Remus, and that helped Lily begin to understand why Remus might feel something for him. The two of them cared for each other, understood each other, and complemented each other in a way that simultaneously didn’t and did make sense. A way that was as contradictory and confusing as love itself.
To Lily’s surprise, she and Sirius became friends. He let her see sides of him she hadn’t known before — not just the good side, which she also hadn’t known, but his vulnerable, needy side. And Lily, in turn, allowed Sirius to see that same vulnerability in her. They were different in many ways but similar in others, which still surprised Lily. In time, she also became friends with Peter, who had a knack for words and was far more observant than he seemed.
Lily learned about their secret — about them being Animagi and joining Remus during the full moons — even before she became truly close to James. One day, she asked Sirius why the Marauders called him Padfoot, and he simply said it was because he was a dog. At first, she thought it was a metaphor, something to do with his name or even his personality: protective, loving, loyal, while also being impulsive, childish, needy, and aggressive. But then she discovered he actually was a dog.
Sirius assumed that Remus had already told her about them being Animagi and about him being a werewolf, but he hadn’t. Sirius apologised to Remus, admitting he always talked too much and didn’t think before acting, which was sometimes true. But Remus said it was fine, that Lily was trustworthy. Remus, who didn’t trust most people — and with good reason — thought she was trustworthy.
And so Lily met Padfoot, Wormtail, and... Prongs. Prongs, or James, was the leader of the group, both in their human forms and as animals. It was James who researched and suggested they become Animagi for Remus, no matter how dangerous the process or how risky it was to spend full moons with a werewolf. James said it didn’t matter because Moony — Remus — was their friend. He was a Marauder, and they would do anything for him, no matter the risks.
In that moment, Lily felt something for James. It wasn’t love, not yet, but it was a sort of sympathy, a curiosity.
Lily finally agreed to go out with James in their seventh year. By then, James had all but given up on asking her, but one day, he asked out of habit, and to his great surprise, she said yes. That day, they didn’t do much besides talk and eat, but Lily realised she enjoyed his company far more than she expected. James seemed different — more mature, more empathetic — and Lily wasn’t sure if it was because of age, the realisation that there was a war happening, or perhaps a mix of both. James had changed, and Lily liked it.
Over time, he let her see more sides of himself. By then, she had already seen his loving and caring side, but he also let her see how, even though he was arrogant and full of bravado, he was insecure about some things. How, even though he was courageous, he was still afraid. It was all so contradictory, yet it made sense. And little by little, Lily allowed herself to be known, to be loved by him.
And she really did love him. James wasn’t perfect, just as Lily wasn’t, but she loved him, and she knew he loved her. And he didn’t just love the idea of her, or the version of her that one person or another might have imagined. He loved the version of Lily she had allowed him to see. Not in the sense of crafting a false persona for him to love, but in the sense of freeing herself from any barriers, insecurities, or fears that if she revealed too much — if she showed something that strayed from the norm — he might pull away and leave her alone.
Lily allowed him to see her for who she truly was — all of her, or at least as much of her as she could show. Was it even possible for someone to love or truly know everything about someone else? Sometimes Lily wondered about that, and she still didn’t know the answer. But she didn’t really care. She felt seen, understood, cherished, loved. She felt happy.
Lily still felt sad, discouraged, afraid, angry — but at the same time, she felt cherished and loved in a way she never had before. Not just by James, but by everyone around her. Perhaps that was one of the consequences of war, as contradictory as it seemed — to make people hold onto each other more tightly, to allow themselves to love and to show that love, afraid that tomorrow simply might not come. Lily tried not to dwell on it too much. She didn’t fear her own death, just as most members of the Order probably didn’t — at least not enough to spend much time thinking about it. But the thought that she could wake up one day and someone she loved might no longer be there — that was terrifying.
And so, forced by the war, Lily felt . She felt so many things all at once. And if she could speak to her younger self — the one who used to wonder how she could feel so many conflicting emotions at the same time — she would tell her that, in truth, she was capable of feeling even more than she had ever imagined. She felt too much, all at once. Lily felt afraid, lost, frightened, angry, desolate, weak, strong, brave, certain, euphoric. She feared, she grieved, she cried, she smiled, she laughed, she loved. Sometimes she did one, then the other. Most of the time, she did both at once.
And then she and James got married, and she felt all of that — but above all else, she felt loved. She felt lucky . Sirius was their best man, and he was so happy, and Lily realised just how much she loved him too, and how much he loved her. He loved her like a younger sister, and she loved him like an older brother. And even though she had Petunia, her older sister, Lily had never had a big brother — just as Sirius had never had a little sister. By that point, he didn’t even have a younger brother anymore. Regulus had died under mysterious circumstances, leaving Sirius feeling so much and nothing at all at the same time.
But on that day — on Lily’s wedding day — they all allowed themselves to feel . And beyond feeling, they allowed themselves to show it .
Lily allowed herself to laugh and comment to James that she had seen Sirius and Remus sneaking away from the wedding together, touching each other far too much for just two great friends — and she allowed herself to laugh even harder at her husband's look of surprise as he suddenly realised the tension between his two best friends, something he had apparently never even considered before. But he was happy, just as Lily was.
Marlene, too, took advantage of the moment — of the fact that they were all allowing themselves to be open — and told her and Mary that she was seeing someone. Dorcas Meadowes, who had been in their year at Hogwarts and had been a Slytherin, like Severus. But Lily tried not to think about him these days, even though it was difficult, even though it hurt more than she would admit. Marlene spoke about how much she loved Dorcas, and how Dorcas loved her in return.
This time, it was Lily’s turn to be surprised. She had always known that Marlene had little interest in men, but she had never imagined that she would fall for a Slytherin. Not because Dorcas was a Slytherin, but because the two of them had spent years as rivals — playing the same position on opposing Quidditch teams at Hogwarts. But Marlene, Lily’s friend, was happy. And so Lily was happy too.
And just when Lily thought she had reached the limit of what she could feel all at once, she found out she was pregnant.
Lily was pregnant in the middle of a war. James’ parents had died. And then her parents died. And several members of the Order began to disappear, or to die, and Lily didn’t know if she should be happy — because she was going to be a mother, Lily was going to be a mother , fulfilling a dream she had always had — or if she should feel something else.
But when Harry was born — Harry , her sweet little boy — Lily felt everything at once. And above all else, she loved him.
It was a different kind of love from what she felt for James, or for Mary, Marlene, Remus, or Sirius. Different even from the love she had for her parents — or still had, despite everything — for her sister, or for Severus. It was a different kind of love, but Lily didn’t yet know how to put into words what made it different .
And then, without even realising it, Lily became angry. Frustrated.
She was frustrated with life, with the universe, for allowing her to feel so much love for so many people only to take them away from her.
Lily had lost her parents. Her sister. Her childhood friend. She was losing more and more friends — not only because they vanished or were killed, but because they spent so much time away, or were so numb from everything happening around them, that it felt as though she had lost them too.
Sirius had lost so much during that time as well. He had already lost his family long ago when he ran away, but then his younger brother died — and he didn’t even know how. And then his father died, and Sirius couldn’t even go to the funeral, even if he hadn't wanted to, but that's not the point, because Death Eaters would be there, and it was too dangerous.
And then the Potters, the family Sirius had chosen, died too.
And Remus — the Remus they all loved, the Remus Sirius especially loved, Moony — was spending more and more time away from them. More time apart than together. And Sirius, like Lily, felt as though they had lost him, even though he hadn’t disappeared or died. He was there, and yet he wasn’t.
And Lily felt a sorrow so deep that she could barely put it into words.
But she was a mother now, and being a mother consumed so much of her that sometimes it was hard to think about anything else. It was hard, but she still managed. Lily kept thinking, kept feeling, no matter how difficult it was or how much it consumed her. She thought and felt for the people around her. She loved them, feared for them — but now she had Harry, her son, and he was her whole world.
And being a mother was far more terrifying than people ever let on. It was utterly terrifying because Lily loved him so much, yet she didn’t know if loving her son would be enough to protect him, to keep him safe. She could only hope that the universe — which had been particularly cruel to her in recent years — would allow her to stay, at least long enough to love him, to love Harry the way he deserved to be loved.
Being a mother in any situation would already be frightening enough. But being a mother in the middle of a war, and discovering that her son — Lily’s son, her whole world — was being hunted specifically, was the most terrifying feeling imaginable. Harry, her little boy, her only child — they wanted to take him from her. And Lily, who was usually so strong, so brave, found herself in a position where the only thing she could do for him was feel. Fear, anger, anxiety — and love. Too much, all at once.
They needed a Secret Keeper, and both Lily and James trusted Sirius for the role. They chose him specifically, just as they had chosen him to be their best man at their wedding and Harry’s godfather. They chose Sirius not because they thought he was more trustworthy than others — like Dumbledore, who had offered to be their Secret Keeper — but because they wanted Sirius to feel trusted. Both of them wanted Sirius to know they believed in him, that he was important. Sirius had been through so much, and was still going through so much, that the Potters felt he deserved that — to feel valued, to feel loved.
And Lily did trust Sirius. They knew there was a traitor in the Order, and little by little, everyone around them was dying. But Lily and James never believed the traitor could be Sirius. Many in the Order did, though. They believed that despite fighting alongside them and risking his life, Sirius was still a Black — and in the end, blood would win out. As much as Lily wanted to argue that Sirius wouldn’t risk his own life, wouldn’t have run away from home at sixteen only to return to his family, she knew the other members of the Order would counter. They would say the traitor was also risking their life, at least in theory, and that it could be any one of them — no matter what arguments they made to themselves.
Still, Lily never stopped trusting Sirius. Sirius was like her — he felt and loved with the same intensity she did. And Lily knew, or at least deeply hoped, that trusting him would be enough to save her life, her husband’s life, and her son’s life.
But people kept dying or disappearing. It was all so frightening, and they were all at their breaking point, so desperate. And in that moment, those who felt too much were at a disadvantage. Feeling too much meant their minds weren’t entirely in the right place, and in times like this, that was a weakness. Lily and Sirius felt too much — more than most people. So when Sirius suggested to her and James that they switch their Secret Keeper to Peter, in some desperate attempt to throw off the Death Eaters, Lily was feeling too much, too many things all at once, to think clearly. She couldn’t remind herself that they were in a war, that there was a traitor, and that they didn’t know who it was. It could have been anyone — even Peter, their friend.
Lily wasn’t sure if James felt as intensely as she and Sirius did. She knew he felt, of course — James was terrible at hiding his emotions. But Lily didn’t know if the intensity of his feelings stopped him from seeing the situation logically. But even if James had some sense that they couldn’t trust just anyone, he still trusted Sirius. And the bond between them was strong and deep enough that he would accept any suggestion Sirius made without question.
Lily wanted to ask Sirius why not Remus. She suspected he believed Remus was the traitor. She wanted to ask why he thought Peter wouldn’t be the traitor — why Peter and not Remus. But she didn’t. They were both feeling too much, and Lily didn’t want to think about it anymore. She didn’t want to dwell on the fact that one of Sirius’ friends — one of their friends — was definitely a traitor, and they didn’t know who.
And then Marlene died. Not just Marlene, but all the McKinnons.
Lily was devastated. She cried so much, felt so much, and all she could think about was how much Sirius must be feeling. How much Remus must be feeling — or at least she hoped he was. How much Peter and Mary must be feeling.
Mary had left the country to avoid being killed, and Lily couldn’t even blame her. She didn’t feel any resentment. Everything was so overwhelming that, as contradictory as it seemed for a woman who felt so much, Lily didn’t have room to feel anger or blame toward her. She only wondered how Mary would feel when she heard the news — how she would have none of them there to comfort her, to offer a shoulder to cry on.
At least Lily had James in that moment. She had Peter visiting them, offering comfort even though he was suffering himself — or she'd thought he was — and she exchanged letters with Sirius. But Mary probably had no one. Amidst all her feelings, Lily felt pain for her.
She was already grieving for herself, knowing that even if the war ended and they survived, Marlene would no longer be among them. But she allowed herself to feel that same grief for Mary.
Dorcas died not long after Marlene. Murdered by Voldemort himself.
And Lily wondered what she must have felt as she faced the man responsible for her girlfriend’s death, her family’s death, and her own. Was she angry, scared, terrified, vengeful — or all of it at once? Lily couldn’t be sure.
The days leading up to Halloween of 1981 were the worst of Lily’s life. She and James only had each other, and everything felt so desperate because, deep down, Lily sensed something was wrong. She didn’t know if James felt it too, but she hoped he didn’t — that it was just in her head. That perhaps, because Lily had always been capable of feeling so much, she was now feeling this fear, this anguish, as a product of that same capacity. James looked exhausted, because he was, just like Lily.
And they had Harry — little Harry, their son, her son — and Lily didn’t just feel for herself but for him, especially for him. All she wished for was that, no matter what happened to her, Harry would be safe.
That’s why, on Halloween night in 1981, in the few seconds when Lily heard James shout that Voldemort was there — that she and Harry needed to run — and then the sound of her husband, her husband, the love of her life, falling lifeless to the ground, Lily could only think that, no matter what happened to her, she couldn’t let anything happen to Harry, her son. She wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
So, she begged. Lily, who had always been so brave and a little proud, begged for Voldemort to let Harry live. Many would say it takes immense courage to stand in front of someone, knowing your fate, to protect another person — even if that person is your one-year-old child. But in those few seconds, as everything happened, Lily couldn’t say whether it was courage that made her act. What she did know was this: she stood in front of her son, knowing she was leaping to her death, because she loved him. Lily loved Harry more than anything.
When Voldemort was defeated that night, leaving only a crying baby with a scar on his forehead in that house, many said it was because of James and Lily’s deaths. That their deaths had brought about Voldemort’s end.
Years later, people would discover it wasn’t quite that. It wasn’t Lily’s death that made Harry, her son, the sole survivor of that night. Harry wasn’t known as the Boy Who Lived because Lily had died, but because she had allowed herself to feel so much and love him so deeply that, in that moment, in the midst of her own death, her love saved him. It was Lily’s love , not her death.
❀❀❀
In the years that followed, so much happened. Amidst the celebrations and many tears of joy, there were also those who cried in anguish, in rage, in sorrow. Sirius was one of them. A man who had spent his whole life feeling too much, all at once was forced to spend the next 12 years having every feeling, every memory, drained from him, leaving behind only a shell incapable of feeling — not, at least, with the intensity he once had.
Remus, unlike Sirius, wasn’t robbed of his ability to feel — at least not literally. There was no one, no being, stealing his feelings or memories. But it was all so painful that he preferred not to feel, to swallow it all and bury everything so deeply, suffocating every memory rather than facing them.
Mary couldn’t simply bury her memories, and no one was there to drain them from her. So, she did it herself. She erased every memory, every moment, even those sweet and happy ones, because now they carried a bitter taste and a crushing guilt — the guilt of having survived when no one else had.
Harry, her son — the son Lily had loved so much — even though he had survived, had to grow up without love. Without knowing how deeply he was loved — not only by Lily, of course, but especially by her. Lily couldn’t be there for him, and the people who could — her own sister — didn’t love him the way he deserved, the way he should have been loved. And despite her sacrifice having saved Harry’s life, there was nothing Lily could do about that.
But then Harry went to Hogwarts. He made friends. He found people who loved him — not for being the Boy Who Lived, but for who he was. Inconsistent and contradictory, as human as James and Lily had been in their time, as Sirius, Remus, Mary, and even Severus still were. Harry was inconsistent and contradictory, but so deeply lovable and so deserving of love.
And Lily hoped he knew that. She hoped he knew how much he had been loved and how much he still was — by everyone, but especially by her.
Remus became Harry’s professor, and Sirius escaped from prison, allowing Harry, through them, to learn a little about who James and Lily had once been. It was heartbreaking that all Harry would ever know of his own parents were the fragments of memories left behind by those who had survived.
Sirius, someone who had always felt everything so deeply, had spent so long having his memories stripped away that, even when some of them returned, he didn’t know how to share them with Harry in the way he deserved. He lacked the maturity to do so. And Remus, who had spent years distancing himself from everyone, forcing himself to forget, to detach, to suppress all feeling, did exactly that again after being exposed as a werewolf.
Harry was no longer alone, but the survivors carried their own pain, their own burdens. He didn’t receive the love and care he should have, the love they would have given him under different circumstances.
And yet, even the little love he was receiving from those who wanted to love him with all the intensity they had once been capable of was taken from him.
Sirius, who had spent his life feeling — and then had been forced to stop feeling, to forget everything, only to be thrown back into the agony of remembering, of reliving his worst moments, of becoming his worst self — was, despite everything, the closest thing Harry had to a father figure. Someone who loved him so profoundly that he would have made any sacrifice for him.
And then Sirius, too, was taken away.
Sirius had felt . He had made mistakes, regretted them, suffered, felt again, suffered again — and then, he simply died .
Life had never been kind to him. And it wasn’t being kind to Harry, Lily’s son, either.
Then Dumbledore — just as complex, just as contradictory, always full of secrets and hidden intentions, so deeply human despite his immense power — was also killed. And again, it was in front of Harry. And there was nothing Lily could do.
Then Severus died. And so did Remus. And so did many others along the way.
And the next time Lily saw her son, he was a seventeen-year-old young man who had suffered far more and lost far more than any boy his age should have. More than anyone, regardless of age, deserved to lose.
Harry, who had cried, who had suffered, who had felt anger, who had felt guilt, who had loved with the same intensity that Lily had once loved — he was afraid. But even so, he was ready to sacrifice his own life.
All Lily could do in that moment was comfort him and hope that, even then, Harry could feel her love for him.
And then Lily’s love protected him once more.
And Harry — the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One — managed to survive again .
Harry, who had already suffered so much, would carry those feelings with him forever: the anger, the sorrow, the guilt of having survived when so many of his friends hadn’t, the pain of loss, the anguish, the happiness, the love. And all Lily could hope for was that he would allow himself to feel them. That he wouldn’t try to rid himself of them.
That, above all, he would allow himself to love — to feel everything that came with love — and to let himself be loved just as intensely.
Lily was dead now. Most of the people who had once known her were too.
And one day — a day perhaps not so far off — there would be no one left alive who remembered her for the person she had been .
Lily had been called many things throughout her life.
She had been clever, kind, naive, cruel, mean, a freak, a witch, a Mudblood, irritating, proud, brave, brilliant, arrogant. A daughter. A sister. A friend. A wife. A mother.
Was she all of those things?
Perhaps. Perhaps people were right about every one of them.
Maybe Lily had been both kind and cruel. Perhaps, depending on the situation — depending on who was looking — she had been both clever and naive, no matter how contradictory those words seemed side by side.
Lily had been a daughter, a sister — though perhaps not the best one — a friend, and a friend to many. A wife. And a mother. She had been allowed to be a mother for so little time, but no one could take that from her.
Lily was Harry’s mother. And she always would be.
Lily was a mother who had loved her son so much that her sacrifice had saved not just him, but thousands of others.
Even if one day, no one remembered her anymore — for who she had been, in all her imperfections, in all her contradictions, in all her humanity — her sacrifice, her love , would mean that countless others would get to live.
To make mistakes.
To feel.
Perhaps even as deeply as she once had.
If Lily could choose what people would remember about her — what they would say whenever her name was mentioned — it would be about her capacity to feel, no matter what the feeling was.
Because it was that ability — to feel so much and for so many — that had made her the person she was.
That had driven every choice she had ever made, good or bad.
That had led her to sacrifice herself for her son.
Lily had been many things in her lifetime. Some good, some bad. Some only half-truths, some outright lies.
But one thing could never be taken from her: Lily had been deeply loved, by many. And she had allowed herself to love just as fiercely — perhaps even more than others ever could.
Even after all these years since her death, it was her love — Lily’s love — and nothing else that people still felt. While Harry had been the boy who lived despite everything —
Lily had been the girl who loved.
Despite, and because of, everything.