Perpetuity

I have no claims on Harry Potter or anything affiliated with the brand. Thanks to Holly for the beta, and to Sarah for discussing it with me (and generally being awesome).

Perpetuity

“What if he doesn’t come?”

“He’ll come.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know he won’t.”

“You were always terrible at arguing.”

“That’s why I married you – so you could do it for me.”

“Or against you, as the case may be.”

“An unforeseen consequence, for sure.”

–

It’s hardest to talk to the fifth-year version of herself, Lily has long since concluded. So stubborn and pig-headed, sure that she was right in anything. The danger of the world hadn’t quite sunk in yet, and all she knew at the time – or so she remembers, but memory is such a capricious concept here that to even think about it will leave her mind pacing in circles for hours – was that she liked Potions and didn’t like James. Or Potter, as she then referred to him out of spite. It’s so much easier to berate someone when you can dissociate yourself like that, she thinks as the young girl in the distance waves her wand at the dark-haired boy in front of her.

A hand snakes around her waist and pulls her against a tall, warm form behind her. She leans back against him and inhales the scent that he’ll always have. The permanence is comforting at times, and sometimes it’s all she can do to not wrap her arms around James and never let go. He comforts her, of course, but she’s not the only one frightened by the thought of eternity in this state, never changing, never growing.

Then again, maybe she is growing. Not physically, of course. That would defy all laws of magic. Ephemeral as they seem, The Rules are unbreakable. She hasn’t tried to break them because she hasn’t felt the need, but perhaps that compulsion of obedience is only a side effect of The Rules. Another one of the paradoxes that supports the existence of Here.

“I never hated you, you know,” she says softly. The red-haired girl in the Hogwarts uniform has thrown the wand aside, opting to tackle the poor boy. The thought crosses her mind: did she do that because she knew it turned him on? It’s possible, but she might be confusing her fifth- and seventh-year selves. It’s a relatively common error, but not one with lasting implications other than the occasional incorrect conclusion.

“I thought you did, but I think I always knew better,” he replies. If Lily had asked the seventh-year version of herself, she wouldn’t have known that he was feigning that light tone. Now she knows better.

She hugs his hands tight around her stomach, right where Harry had been barely more than a year ago. (It’s easiest to think of now as the moment in which she lived, rather than the present. It’s entirely too difficult to keep things straight otherwise.) James might’ve won her over in the end, but the past is hard to ignore, especially when it repeats itself right in front of your eyes.

“I resented you,” she tells him.

“You had a reason to. I was an idiot.”

“You were. You pulled my pigtails.”

“You stopped wearing pigtails after second year,” he reminds her fondly. “I remember I was disappointed.”

“Didn’t stop you from sitting behind me in class and throwing things at me,” she says, a mischievous smile playing across her lips.

“Of course not. Nothing would’ve stopped that.”

“Not even if I’d dated you?”

“We were twelve. ‘Dating’ consisted of holding hands and kissing on the cheek. Besides,” he adds, “I still thought that if I kissed a girl she’d infest me with Nargles.”

One of the most surprising things about Here is that Lily can always learn something new from James. She wonders if one day they’ll run out of things to share, but that seems like a thing The Rules wouldn’t want her to mention, so she says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says, but it’s not a reflex. She knows he means it.

–

“Psst!”

She ignores him. Stupid prat.

“Pssssst!” he repeats.

She knows from experience that he’ll keep doing it until she asks what he wants, so she swivels her head around, whipping her bouncy pigtails into his face. His own fault for sitting so close behind her. “What?” she demands, slamming her textbook shut.

“We’re back again.”

Lily’s eyes light up, and she immediately starts casting her head around, searching for the glint of red and black. She spots them sitting against the castle wall, far up the hill from where she’s perched by the lake. Every once in a while, they’ll show up. Sometimes She’ll even talk to Lily, and once He did, too. She didn’t much like Him – He acted like he knew so much better than she did. Age apparently doesn’t make a difference with arrogance.

“What d’you think they’re talking about?” he whispers in her ear. She pulls a face and shoves him away to a reasonable distance.

“How should I know?” she says, intending to be meaner but failing. Curiosity trumps everything.

“She likes to talk to you.”

“No, She doesn’t.”

“More than He talks to me,” Potter says petulantly. “S’not fair. No one ever talks to me.”

Rolling her eyes, she points out, “I’m talking to you.”

“Yeah, only ‘cause you have to.” He draws his legs up to wrap his arms around them. After a minute of silent observation of the distant pair, he asks, “Why don’t they talk to us more?”

“It’s against The Rules, that’s why.” She wishes he’d be quiet so she can try to read their lips. It’s futile because she’s never learned how to, and more importantly because they’re much too far away.

“You’re such a swot, Evans. They can talk to us.”

“Well, of course. But they might say something against The Rules.”

“But The Rules won’t let them,” he argues.

Lily says tiredly, “Shut it. If you’re quiet, maybe they’ll come over.”

It’s a weak reason, but it seems to work; he stops talking. Unfortunately, this means Lily is able to ponder the reasons why none of her older selves like to come around. The fifth-year one does more often than anyone else, but other than complaining about Potter being annoying – and only in general terms – there isn’t much else to discuss. Everything Lily could possibly say, the older one already knows.

A sharp jab into her side pulls her out of her reverie. Potter flashes a smirk at her, then starts to run away. Of all the people to be stuck with for eternity, Potter’s the worst possibility Lily could come up with other than You Know Who. She tells herself this as she scrambles to her feet to chase after him because she certainly won’t allow him to have the last poke.

–

There is Here and there is There. Here is like home to Lily. She has access to her cottage and parts of Hogwarts. She’s grateful for the lake, even if the youngest ones are usually lounging about the shores.  There, on the other hand, offers unimaginable possibilities. Whenever the temporarily disorienting move happens – and there doesn’t seem to be a pattern to when she’ll feel as though she’s swirling, being sucked down a short, narrow pipe and popping out the other end – Lily finds that she can meet just about anyone. She’s seen Snape, Remus and Sirius. Peter, too, but that…was unpleasant. She’s seen lots of Harry, which is really the only method she has for determining how much time has passed outside of her world. She likes those times best, when she gets to hug Harry. Hugging is not against The Rules, thankfully. They can’t talk about much, but there is an enormous amount of comfort that can be derived from embracing someone for a few minutes.

On the other hand, going There can also be frightening because it offers a wealth of possible information, as much as The Rules try to prevent it. Some things are just noticeable based on what scenes are performed in front of her. (Well, more accurately, her and James. He’s always with her, as are the younger pairs. Some of the content doesn’t seem suitable for their younger eyes, but at least they aren’t really affected by what they see.)

For example, once she was able to watch as The Director reviewed several trials after the war. She deduced that something happened to get rid of Voldemort, but oddly even now this information has no impact on her emotions. It is simply fact. Then there had been two Directors, and one had been her beloved son, all grown-up. (Grown-up to only her, who only accurately recalls him being an infant.) To watch him live in front of her own eyes should have been heartbreaking – she was finally able to watch him do something outside of what he’s already done, but really it is just another piece of information stored in her mind for later perusal. Not long after the usual Director joined Harry, they both disappeared, leaving Lily to examine There. Either The Director would return soon, or Lily would be transported back to her own Here.

It’s times like those when she wishes Directors could see her, James and anyone else off-stage, but they can’t. They don’t even know she’s sitting there watching them. She knows it’s for the best, though, because otherwise it would be too much. To be able to consult anyone at any period of time, so long as someone remembers what happened, would be too great and capricious of a power.

Mostly she wishes she had a Harry in her Here, but he likely has an entire Here filled with the versions of him. It’s very likely, in fact, that he has several Heres. The Director, while he cares for Lily and James, only has one Here dedicated to the two of them, based on Lily’s speculations. She’s seen a couple of other versions of herself There, but none are older than she is. This absence is telling, as is the fact that all the Harrys love to be around her, as if he’s never spent any time at all with her. She and James have exchanged significant glances over the matter, but no words – that would be against The Rules. She secretly is relieved The Rules forbid it; if she were able to talk about it, she doesn’t think she’d be able to stop crying.

–

It’s show-time, or at least it is for eighteen-year-old Lily. A moment ago Lily and James had been enjoying a peaceful sit in front of their fireplace, and after a hazy swirl of confusion, she was seated with her other selves in anticipation of the unfolding scene. She grabs her James and holds him close.

“I know what I’m getting into, sir,” the young Lily in the center of the theater declares, her eyes blazing with determination. (It’s not really a theater, but Lily likes to call it that to differentiate between what The Director wants at the moment and what Lily can remember.)

Dumbledore lowers himself into the old chair behind his desk and bids Lily to take a seat as well. “It is very easy to allow our emotions to control our immediate actions,” he says calmly.

“This isn’t a rash decision,” she assures him. Her hands wring against each other in her lap.

Lily has seen herself play this scene out many times. It’s quite obvious why The Director fixates on this particular episode, and she wishes she could reach out to him and reassure him that she would’ve found a way to fight, whether she was admitted or not.

She mouths Dumbledore’s response before he even begins his sentence, a bad habit she picked up from summer movie marathons in her youth. (James, if he could hear her thoughts, would remind her that she is far from old now. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t, knowing that that’s a bittersweet fact of their existence.)

“The young are never rash,” Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling, “merely forthright.”

“I’ve been thinking about this since September. Before…it happened.” Lily feels a familiar twinge of sympathy for her younger self who has not yet come to terms with her friend’s death.

The Headmaster slides a drawer on his left open and removes a small tin. “Would you care for a sweet?”

“Professor, I want to join. I know I did well enough on my NEWTs, I have leadership experience, and I’m motivated.”

“And what of Mr. Potter?”

That sends the young Lily through a loop. Her composure falters as she looks at her white knuckles. “He doesn’t know I’m up here.”

Since her arrival Here, Lily has seen Dumbledore strolling around, but they don’t speak. Everything they’re allowed to share has been said. She can’t tell him that at that moment James was off being Remus’ friend. She doesn’t, however, know if Dumbledore noticed the full moon that night. Those nights were the hardest for Lily, especially after the attack. She’d stay up all night, pondering the things she’d shoved in the back of her mind during the sunlit days with James.

“He knows I want to do something,” Lily tells Dumbledore, “and I know he wants to help, too.”

“But is he aware of your dedication?”

She has no response.

“Would you join if he were to seek employment elsewhere?”

Her younger self closes her eyes and ducks her head. The young Lily has been through this scene countless times, but every time her act is perfect. The magic has to help them all out, or else surely someone would have messed up by now. Not once, though, has a scene been performed anything less than flawlessly.

Finally, without looking up, Lily quietly replies, “I would.”

There is a long, pregnant pause. When Lily raises her head and looks Dumbledore in the eye, he nods once.

James presses a soft kiss to her temple, and she sends out a silent prayer of thanks that he decided he would follow her to the ends of the earth and beyond.

–

“Psst.”

She gives him an exasperated, “What?”

“You should say yes next time.”

They’re in the library, wandering around the Restricted Section. She slides a book out from the shelf, pages through it, and returns it to its proper place before letting out a drawn-out sigh. “Speculate all you’d like – we both know it won’t happen.”

“But… you’ve got to say yes eventually, right?” he says, half to himself. “Otherwise it doesn’t make sense.”

“That we come in pairs?”

“Exactly. Well, except for Dumbledore, but he doesn’t really count, does he?” He pauses to ponder this before continuing, “I think the fact that I’m even allowed to suggest it out loud…”

“Means nothing.” She turns away to stroll down the aisle and pick out another book at random. “I’m sure you always thought you had a chance, so it wouldn’t matter whether you think you’ve inferred otherwise.”

His fingers skim over the worn spines of the books as he makes his way to her. “Not always,” he informs her, bordering on solemnity. “Sometimes I think there’s not a chance you’ll ever do anything but hate me.”

“And I do hate you so,” she tells him in a mock-sweet voice. “And I always will. I hope you realize that.”

“No need to vocalize it, thanks.” He pushes the book against her chest to examine the title. “The Tails of the Grimm,” he reads. “Fitting.”

She rolls her eyes and shoves it into his arms. “It’s all yours.”

“Aren’t you going to ask why I never give up?”

“You know,” she says, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “I think you’d tell me whether I care or not.” Her eyebrows quirk in defiance.

“Whenever I start doubting, I remind myself how charming I am,” he says, smug as they come, “and it seems inevitable that you’ll have to say yes sometime, even if it is to get me to shut up.”

“With a pitch like that, how can I refuse?” Lily turns on her heel, tossing her long hair over her shoulder as she starts for the exit.

“Hey, wait up!” She hears him shelving the book. “It’s not like there’s anyone else for me to bother.”

Pausing, she casts a glance over her shoulder. It can’t hurt to wait for him, just this once.

–

Another day, another scene. Lily and James are now watching a wizened Dumbledore berate an obstinate Severus Snape. Remus is seated in front of her, but it’s a version of him she’s never encountered before. He greeted her with a curt nod and a smile. To Lily, it would have been fitting for him to say, “Haven’t seen you in a while,” or, “It’s so good to see you again.” But such niceties would make it too obvious that Lily stopped being a part of people’s new memories, and The Rules won’t allow it to be said so explicitly.

Inference is widely allowed, so long as it remains all in her head. This becomes problematic when she permits her imagination to run wild, and knowing only the outcome without the in-between is very frustrating. What seems even more useless is that even if she is positive in her conclusions, it doesn’t make her feel. This new ability to be impervious to that sort of information would theoretically allow her to know what comes to pass, but The Rules are all about precaution, about preserving the sanctity of truth.

And so she sits with rapt attention, attempting to discern as much as possible from the scene in front of her. She’s deducted that Snape has made some sort of Vow, and he doesn’t like it. It’s not clear why Remus is here since he hasn’t performed yet, nor has McGonagall, who flanks James’ other side. 

The Director has had fewer guests than usual the past few times Lily’s been There. It’s been him, replaying the same scenes over and over again. He’s clearly fixated, but as Lily has gathered that somehow Voldemort is back in the picture, he has every reason to be concerned. Everyone looks to him for leadership. If she weren’t so shy, and if The Rules were different, she’d ask the Dumbledore in her Here what it was like to have everyone depending on you so thoroughly.

A while back, Lily was lucky enough to watch The Director reviewing himself talking to Harry. He showed her son a memory of some senile old lady who told them that Harry was destined to kill Voldemort.

That was the day Lily fully came to terms with how confining The Rules are. Watching her little boy hurl objects across the room in anger (James’ hand nearly crushed her own when they found out Sirius was dead), only to then be told he had to murder someone, someone much more experienced than he, and to not be able to cry about it… She remembers shedding tears before about Voldemort and Harry, but she hadn’t known things were so direct until then. Kill or be killed.

It’s when she thinks of memories like that one that she wishes she were dead. It’s silly, since she quite obviously is dead (or rather, her future self is), and even more so since she’s far from living now, but this parody of a life is worse than being a ghost.

When she first discovered she could turn into a ghost, the thought alone had sent shivers down her spine. Now she’s stuck midway between life and death, only she can’t live here. She can’t do anything but think and guess and remember.

If she didn’t have James, she’d have surely gone mad by now.

That is, if going mad is allowed.

It probably isn’t.

–

“I refuse.”

“Severus,” Dumbledore says, in that benign yet firm manner only he could pull off, “you must. There is no other option.”

Snape looks away. Even as an adult, he’s really a child at heart, Lily thinks. Finally, he speaks, although it’s directed at the desk. “I refuse to believe this is the only solution, but if I were forced….”

Dumbledore isn’t smiling, not really, but he exudes a sense of contentment. “There are worse things than death,” he says, eyes flicking to his disfigured hand.

“I’m familiar with your beliefs.” Snape scowls. “I can’t comprehend how you have so much faith in the boy.”

Now Dumbledore’s lips do quirk, and Lily’s glad of it. She believes in her son, even if Snape doesn’t. “You’ve never been quite as talented at forgiveness as you’ve been at Potions.”

Snape bristles. “He doesn’t have an ounce of common sense --”

“He has trusting friends, good instinct, and an infinite capacity to love and forgive.”

These traits are clearly not what Snape wants to hear, but Lily can see why he wouldn’t understand. She does, though, and so does James. Well, maybe not James. She spares a glance and sees that although he’s paying attention, the very presence of Snape has him thrumming with tension.

“If I were to do as you asked, he would not be so forgiving of me.”

 “With time and reason, I’m certain he would.” Dumbledore peers over his half-moon glasses. “Rest assured, Severus, that I would be prepared. I would not leave him without any sort of knowledge as to your allegiances.”

Snape looks to the black cabinet in the back of Dumbledore’s office, then back to Dumbledore, who nods once.

Lily is all too familiar with what resides in the cabinet, and although her first thought is to smile at the situation, her second is to speedily process what this means for her son.

It’s exciting, almost, in that she’ll get to see him. Then again, she also doesn’t like what the scene she’s just witnessed implies for Dumbledore. Or Harry. Or anyone, really. 

–

“Do you think Dumbledore is really all-knowing?” James trails a hand through her hair as they lounge alongside one another on their cottage’s floor, in their favorite spot in front of the fireplace.

“You’d actually bother asking me?” she asks, content to simply sit with her husband and think.

“I know he isn’t, but can this really all work out? There’s so much--” He pauses, struggling to find a way to be unspecific enough to satisfy The Rules. “So much unknown. Plans can only be made so far in advance. People that need to see certain events might not see them. Others might beat them to... it.” Here, she knows he means. Others might beat him to us.

 “I’d like to think everything will turn out for the best.” Lily leans her head back to rest on James’ chest. She wants to tell him that if she thinks otherwise, she’d have to contemplate what would happen to There and Here, and she wants to comment on the fact that the Director hasn’t been around in a while. She can’t, though, so she settles for staring into James’ eyes.

He bends his head down and briefly kisses her temple, murmuring against her ear that everything will be fine, but all she can think about is how long it will be before Harry arrives. He is so crucial to everything, more than Lily would stand for if she were still alive (he would certainly not be allowed out to go out Dark Lord hunting, that’s for sure), but what is, is. She knows the Director is preparing for something. He’s gathered an assortment of scenes – mostly recent ones – and he’s left them sitting There for a long period of time. Lily’s never been There for this long before.

It’s very easy for Lily to puzzle everything together, since she’s watched countless scenes in her time There, including all the ones with the various Lilys. It feels like she’s at the eye of the storm, like she’s been watching as the clouds gather and the winds pick up speed, and the distant grumbling of thunder that’s been growing ever nearer tells her it’s about to start pouring any minute now.

 

–

He’s here. If she hadn’t been part of the Here-There system for so long, Lily might actually be nervous that she’d mess up her lines. As it is, though, she knows it will be exactly the same as every other time she’s done it, and she’s done it more times than she can count. This is the first time for anyone but The Director, and it is the most important performance of her life.

Her son is a novice at being a Director, which means he has to watch all of the scenes with her younger selves before he can get to the more recent and, in Lily’s opinion, more pertinent ones. She wonders how much he knows about her and James. It can’t be much, since her friends are conspicuously absent, and she has her suspicions about what happened to the other Marauders. It should be a tough reality to face, but it isn’t.

Everything is muted: colors, sensations, and, most importantly, feelings. Her brain tells her that knowing her son is suffering should make her want to cry, and distantly she can sense the pain, but she imagines it’s much like ghosts and food – always striving for it, never quite tasting it in full. And it is beyond boring to be limited to the same emotions over and over and over again, enough to make her want to rip her eyeballs out. (But not really, because she can’t summon that much passion anymore.)

Life is very peaceful and neutral, at least until she gets onstage. Once she slips into role, all the emotions of that moment come flooding back. On the one hand, it’s exhilarating to actually experience full emotions, but on the other it’s exhausting because all she can relive are the tension and paranoia of war. And love, of course, which makes up for the other two in spades.

Love that she has for Harry, but that he can’t remember. He has such an enormous task ahead of him, one she hopes he knows about, and he doesn’t have his parents to support him.

Finally, after she’s watched herself reaffirm her dedication to joining the Order, it’s her turn. Perhaps it’s the magic, or perhaps it’s her solid experience with this scene, but she quickly forgets her son is even watching. There is only her, James and Dumbledore. And the palpable sense of anxiety in the air, of course.

“Please, sit.” Dumbledore is old, but today he looks more worn-out than usual. This does not bode well, and her senses whisper in her ear that he would’ve delivered good news at the cottage, not in his office.

James and Lily exchange a glance before taking the seats opposite Dumbledore’s own. The voices tell her he needs the desk to keep himself separate, but Lily tells them to shut up so she can hear the more important voice.

“No one’s died, have they?” James ventures.

That gets a small half-smile out of Dumbledore. “Fortunately not. However,” he says, clasping his hands on the desk, “I’m afraid I do have something rather unpleasant to share with the two of you.”

Lily reaches out and grabs James’ hand in a crushing grip, but he shows no sign of noticing. Dumbledore waits, alternately looking them both in the eye and continuing only when James gives him a curt nod.

“As you well know, Voldemort would like nothing more than to see the two of you out of the picture. You’ve evaded him too many times for his pride to allow, not to mention your significant contributions to the Order.” A small, weary sigh escapes him. “Which is, as it happens, exactly why you two are in such danger now. There is a prophecy,” he begins, and Lily doesn’t want him to finish, “and Harry is one of two candidates for the focus of it.”

Surely Lily has never grabbed anything as hard as she does now with James’ hand. It’s quite amazing that he hasn’t shaken her off yet. Distantly, she wonders if his hand ever hurts after the scene is over. “What does the prophecy say?” Lily plucks up the courage to ask.

Dumbledore leans forward and says in a soft voice, “Harry could very well be the one to defeat Voldemort.”

This is some of the best news Lily’s ever heard, except she can’t get past the fact that Harry is her son, and he has no business fighting Dark Lords – he only just learned to walk a month ago.

James seems to hold similar thoughts. He haltingly says, “Well, that’s great and all, but I don’t really see how that makes things any more dangerous than they were before. We knew it wasn’t the best time to have a child,” he says, half to himself, “but there’s no time like the present, and—”

“James.” Dumbledore’s voice is brimming with patience and kindness. “There’s no need to explain the desire to have a child, especially one of such extraordinary parents.” He graces them with a forlorn smile. “The prophecy is promising for the future, certainly, but as luck would have it, one of Voldemort’s spies overheard part of the prophecy. I’m afraid that Voldemort is aware of the prerequisites for the one who can defeat him, and I’m certain he will go after one, if not both, of the candidates.”

The entire room feels like it’s tilting, and Lily would fall off her chair and into oblivion if not for James, her anchor.

“So… what happens now?” James asks, his free hand coming to rest on top of Lily’s grasp.

“I think it would be best if the two of you went into hiding using the Fidelius Charm. Lily,” Dumbledore says, his eyes boring into hers, “I assume you know the basics?”

She nods, still off-balance in her mind.

“As this is of the utmost importance, I would be willing to be your Secret Keeper.”

“You can’t,” Lily says, automatically. Out of the corner of her eye she can see James anxiously looking between her and Dumbledore; he wasn’t terrible at Charms, but he doesn’t understand them like Lily does.

“The Fidelius is no small feat, but it should keep you hidden from Voldemort.”

“You can’t,” Lily repeats. “What about Headquarters?”

“There are others available for that task.”

“Lily,” James says quietly.

She flicks her eyes at James. “You can’t be Secret Keeper for more than one place at a time,” she explains. “We can find someone else. Headquarters are more important.”

“Sirius.” James’ voice is strong and sure, and Lily is envious of his confidence.

“James….” Lily starts to tug her hand out of his. “Are you sure that’s the best choice?”

“Of course it is,” he replies quickly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “He’d die for me. Us.”

“He’s also notoriously bad with secrets,” she points out, anger simmering beneath the surface. This is the sort of argument where, if they were in the privacy of their own home, they would scream and shout at each other until one of them gave in. Time changes people, though, and they’ve learned to keep their passions restrained in public.

“He learned his lesson!” James restrains himself. “And he would never hurt me.”

Lily grudgingly admits that Sirius is hopelessly loyal to James, but insists that they should explore all the possibilities before making a decision.

“If I might make a suggestion,” Dumbledore says gently. “Do not delay the decision much further. It is now imperative that your family survive, and until Harry is older, the only means to that end is to hide.”

James and Lily assure him it will be at the fore of their thoughts and leave his office, hearts heavy and hands clasped.

And scene, Lily thinks. She and James head offstage to join the others waiting, and the scene melts into one with McGonagall and Dumbledore discussing Hogwarts’ future. She nudges her way in front of Snape and Remus, dragging James with her, and there’s Harry, the only Director now, watching the scene with an impassive face. She desperately wishes the Director could see them when they aren’t the main act so that she could explain herself more fully. She could explain to her son why, exactly, they picked Sirius over Dumbledore. There are more things at play than the actual memory shows, but Harry isn’t privy to any of it. Hypothetically she could have changed what she said during her scene, blurted out whatever came to mind, but seriously thinking about doing anything of the sort makes it seem as though her skull is crushing in on her brain.

The scenes flip by: Snape and Dumbledore, Dumbledore in a mysterious cottage, Voldemort torturing Peter while his snake slithers around his feet. Lily generally knows what it means for Harry, but she still isn’t quite certain what a Horcrux is, only that they probably aren’t good. There’s so much for him to accomplish, it seems, and he’s so young. He’s her little boy, only she unfortunately missed out on his upbringing. She can’t help but think that if she had managed to stay alive, things might’ve turned out differently. It’s a foolish thought, of course.

She watches as the final scene plays out, with Harry the Director silently clenching and unclenching his fists off to the side. He really is the spitting image of James, except for his eyes. James’ arm slides around her waist, and she leans her head on his shoulder. The rain has come at last, and while Lily’s future is predictable, her son’s is not, and she hopes he has someone to shelter him from the storm like she did.