James had bought it as a gift for her when they moved in to the little cottage at Godric's Hollow shortly after their wedding. It was made of clear glass which reflected the light off its surface (well, that was what it was made for, anyway) and had a lovely golden frame decorated with beautiful patterns. But that wasn't what made the mirror so special to Lily. No, it was the fact that it was magical that made it all the more wonderful. She had received it with a smile and kissed him on the lips, and the couple had hung it up on their bedroom wall.
Every now and then, she would stand in front of the mirror and look at herself. Not to see if she was beautiful, for Lily Potter née Evans couldn't care less about how she looked, but to search for what she was. She would stare at her reflection and scrutinize each change that came over her, and the mirror would offer comments and advices and other little snippets of talk, as all magical mirrors do.
She had stood in front of its smooth surface the morning after their first lovemaking session in the house, examining the light bruises on her collarbone and lips, a delirious smile still plastered to her lips.
"Couldn't be a little tamer, could you?" the mirror had chided. A tinkling laugh had escaped from her, and the smile hadn't wavered.
She had looked into its depths as she waited, alone in the house, for James to come back from the mission he had been assigned. A worried pair of green eyes had stared back at her.
"He will come back safe, dear, I am sure," the melodious voice had assured from behind the glass. She had desperately hoped that it was true.
She had laughed, throwing a cursory glance at the cool glass as Sirius spun her around in circles, and then given him a hug and a kiss on his cheeks, before ushering him downstairs for dinner.
"You are really lucky to have such a best friend," the mirror had told her later. She couldn't have agreed more.
She had stared at her own reflection, wide eyed and nervous, holding the positive pregnancy test, debating just how to break the news to her husband. Doubts and misgivings circled in her mind.
"Throw it to his face, love," the mirror had advised. "That's the easiest way."
And later that evening, she had come to thank it for the advice, for the news had just made the couple the happiest persons in the world.
She had looked on at it for minutes on end, hours even, sometimes, scrutinising the changes that were occurring to her body with her oncoming motherhood. She had stared at the ever growing bump in her belly, her flushed cheeks and glowing eyes with wonder.
"I can't wait for the big day," the mirror had informed her, making a nervous giggle escape her lips.
She had stood in front of the glass, her abdomen flat again and a new born baby in her arms, checking how the two of them looked together. Every now and then, she would let her wonder-filled gaze travel down to her tiny black-haired son, and her face would break into an adoring smile.
"Perfect!" was the only thing the familiar, sing-song voice had told her, and it was by far the best compliment of the day.
She didn't remember exactly when, and why, the thing had been shifted from her bedroom to Harry's nursery, but she didn't mind, because those days, she spent more time by her son than in her own room.
And everyday when she stood in front of the gilded frame (it had almost become a habit now), the mirror gushed about every little thing her son did throughout the day.
Then things changed; times worsened. Locked up in her own house under the Fidelius charm without much knowledge of what was happening to her loved ones, she spent more time in front of the mirror, her heart tightening with worry as one by one, her friends dropped down dead.
She looked on in the glass as her features deteriorated under the stress; watched as dark circles appeared below her eyes, as her smile grew forced and her eyes grew dark with suppressed pain and worry.
"Believe in the best, my dear," the mirror consoled. "Things will be better."
And so she did, well, at least tried to.
She had looked at it first thing on James' birthday, as a rare burst of joy swept through her. She watched as her lips lifted into a real smile and her eyes sparkled; today was a day of celebration, and not even the war was going to dampen it.
"That's the spirit, dear!" the mirror had said, and she silently agreed, before running off to tickle her husband awake.
She had stood in front of the mirror the night she heard of the death of the McKinnons, and found a wreck staring back at her — eyes red and puffy from crying all evening, hair askew, an image of utter defeat.
"The good die too soon," the mirror had sighed, and she had nodded sadly, silently cursing the war for taking away such precious lives.
She had grinned, brightened once again, as she stood holding her son, one year old that day, in front the glass. He had been dressed up for his birthday, and was looking very cute.
"Happy birthday, darling," the mirror had sung out. The baby had gurgled and laughed. The sound had made her day.
She had smiled slightly as she put her son to sleep, blissfully ignorant of how her life would be destroyed the next day.
"Good night, dears," the melodious voice had whispered from the wall, and she had paused once in front of the glass to cast a last glance at herself.
She had come bounding up the stairs with her son, tears streaming down her eyes as she heard her husband being murdered in cold-blood downstairs. Futilely trying to obstruct the entry of the door, she had inched towards the crib with Harry in her arms, knowing, yet trying to defy, the impending end. On its own, her eyes had travelled to the reflecting glass on the wall, the companion of her joy and sorrow for the last two years. She saw herself looking at a young woman with desperation in her green eyes and panic apparent in every inch of her body.
"Stay strong," was all the framed glass had said.
And she did. Till the very end.