Letters to Lily

When the owl flew through her window, Lily Potter was sitting in her kitchen, one hand over her stomach and the other lazily stirring her tea. She was reading a week-old edition of the Daily Prophet and trying not to look at the words “Missing,” “Feared dead,” “Dark Mark,” and “He Who Must Not Be Named.”

Life had never been so depressing. During the day, James was often off doing…well, something for the Order of the Phoenix. Lily tried to busy herself with chores around the house. These days, she often felt out of the loop. She had stopped taking on any Order duties and she didn’t have much contact with Order members other than her husband’s fellow marauders. She knew it was the right thing to do for their baby, and for their marriage, but she just felt so useless stuck here in Dorchester. And the nights she and James spent hours talking about the future? About whether they were being irresponsible having a baby while Voldemort’s power was still growing? Those didn’t help much either.

James was right, though, she knew he was. It was the same argument people fighting the forces of evil had been using for centuries. If they let the threat of Voldemort stop them from living their lives, it was like letting Voldemort win before they ever got a chance to fight.

Lily hated to think of her child as an act of defiance. She also hated to think of him as a mistake. It was true that they hadn’t meant to get pregnant, but Harry – she’d already begun calling him Harry even though she continued to tell James that she hadn’t chosen a name – Harry was going to be perfect. Here he was, not even born, and Lily already knew that she would die to protect him.

On her way to put the cup in the sink, Lily sighed and shook her head. Even though it was only an expression, it was hard to use words like that so casually

Lily found herself thinking back to the last Order meeting and the horrible charge Dumbledore had lain upon her. And Alice too, she reminded herself. Poor Alice.

Lily sighed again.

Dumbledore’s prophecy was weighing heavily on her these days. She couldn’t help the thought that kept running through her head, the one that kept her up at night, the one that simultaneously freed her from some of her fear and trapped her with guilt. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, admitting that she really didn’t think she was in as much danger as the Longbottoms were. Because their son would be a pureblood, and hers, her Harry, would be a half-blood. As much as she hated herself for the thought, there was a small part of Lily that secretly believed that if Voldemort took that prophecy seriously, he was more likely to go after Alice’s baby than he was hers. Wasn’t that the point of this stupid war? Voldemort and his Death Eaters trying to spread prejudice and lies about people with Muggle ancestry? Convincing people that they were worthless and powerless and below their regard?

Besides, it was just a prophecy. Divination was the one subject she never really put much stock into.

Into which she never put much stock, she corrected herself. And grammar. Why didn’t Hogwarts teach grammar?

As she slowly and awkwardly sat back down to the woefully-depressing paper, Lily made a mental note to owl Alice later that day .

It was at that moment that the owl came in through the kitchen window and deposited the letter right onto page six of the Prophet, right in the middle of a (ridiculously exaggerated and mostly incorrect) story about “Secret Forces within the Ministry Fighting You Know Who.” It was a medium-sized tawny owl, and it hooted around for a minute before spying the small tray of treats, making sure to stop there briefly on its way back out into the bright summer morning. Curious, Lily tore the envelope and unfolded the parchment. It was somewhat messy: there were words and lines scratched out here and there, and near the top the handwriting looked a bit shaky. The handwriting, Lily thought, seemed vaguely familiar, and it was addressed to her.

Dear Lily,

She took a deep breath and began to read.

I hope this letter finds you, and that it finds you and your
growing family still doing well. You probably don't remember
me, but I knew you and James from school, and when I heard
you were having a baby, I wanted to tell you how happy I am
for you both.

I know something of the future, Lily. Not much, and there’s
nothing I can really tell you to make the next few months
easier, but your son will grow to be strong and proud, and he
will love his parents dearly.

Love is the power that will save us from Voldemort. I believe
it, and Professor Dumbledore believes it, and we should trust
that. Isn’t love the power that strengthens us when we need it
most? That builds bridges over chasms and keeps us going
in the face of fear?

There are actually probably a lot of cliches that say
things like that, and while they’re all well and good, I know
damn well that it’s not as easy as a snap of the fingers.
Wouldn’t that be grand? To wish that Voldemort was gone,
and then snap your fingers or clap your hands and poof! All
clear.

Nevertheless, it can be done. And it will be done.

And Harry will be safe. You’ll see to that.

Regards from,

A far away friend