Love, Mum
by Special Fred
Full summary: Lily Potter found out she was pregnant in November of 1979, just as the war against Lord Voldemort was escalating rapidly. She began writing a series of letters to her unborn child in case anything happened to her in the course of the war. Nineteen years later, after he's defeated Voldemort, Harry finds the letters in their old house.
Author's Note:
First off, thank you so much for clicking on my story! I know there's so many out there to read, and the fact that you're reading this means you chose mine, so thank you!
Second, this is by far not the first fanfiction I've ever written, but it is the first one I've ever posted online. As such, I would really like feedback. I'm not asking for much, just a word or two to let me know how you like it (or if you didn't at all) and maybe suggestions for improving. Honestly, anything right now would be very much appreciated!
Third, I am a very, very busy college student with two part time jobs. Because of this, updates will be sporadic at best. I will try my very best to be consistent, but I can't promise anything. I will promise you this though: this story will be completed. I don't know how long it will take, but I will get there! I've never left a story unfinished yet, and I don't plan to start now.
And now I have three comments about the story itself: (1) This is going to be a long one, folks. Right now, I'm planning about thirty chapters or so, but with the way I write it will probably turn out even longer. (2) It will mostly be written from Lily's point of view in her letters to Harry. There will be times when I use short or improper sentences and syntax because I'm going to write these as I believe Lily would have written them. It's done for creative effect, so please don't point out every run-on sentence or sentences without a proper subject or whatever. I know they're there; I put them there. All other grammar mistakes are fair game, though, so please point them out and I will fix them. (3) There will be no major deviations from canon, and I'm trying to make this as non-AU as possible, but if I slip up on little details, please let me know so I can fix them! However, as there's not a lot known about the time period 1979-1981, I will be using characters/situations/relationships/etc that are not stated in canon. All I'm saying is I'm not going to directly defy canon, just play within the boundaries a bit.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter except a poster on my wall. It all belongs to the wonderful J. K. Rowling and the movie people. So don't sue, thanks!
And I think that's all I had to tell you. Thanks for sticking with me so far, and now on to the story!
Prologue
Peace is very quiet. Too quiet.
Or so Harry thinks. His life has never been quiet before—living with the Dursleys could hardly have been called a peaceful existence. His first years at Hogwarts were alive with the constant whirl of activity, people, and, of course, the rush of danger and mystery followed by a harrowing end-of-the-year event that never failed to squash any tiny measure of peace and quiet Harry'd tried to maintain. Then there came the Triwizard Tournament in fourth year; the attempted Ministry takeover of Hogwarts, Occlumency, and the Ministry fiasco in fifth; and then chasing Malfoy about, learning about Horcruxes, and Dumbledore's death in sixth year. Well. Harry figured he'd had the least typical school career it was possible for anyone—even a witch or wizard—to have.
And after that, Harry's life had just gotten crazier. He, Ron, and Hermione had made a mad dash for the Horcruxes, and he thought that was perhaps the most nerve-racking time in his life. There had been moments of quiet, sure. He had spent whole days sitting in the tent thinking about where they could look and waiting for inspiration to strike, but there had always been the addition of gut-wrenching fear, doubt, and anger that kept it from being truly peaceful.
After the battle at Hogwarts, Harry had hoped to relax a bit, maybe take a vacation or three to unwind. After all, he'd defeated Voldemort—not single-handedly, he admitted—but surely he deserved some time off? But no—if anything, he was even more stressed. Between the clean up, rebuilding, funerals, award ceremonies, press conferences, and interviews, Harry hardly had time to breathe. That, and the general mass hysteria of the public anytime he ventured outside the Burrow or Shell Cottage, had convinced him that perhaps it was best just to sit tight and endure it until everything had settled down.
In time, people had calmed down. It'd taken several months, but life was slowly (very slowly) returning to normal: people returned to work, schools reopened, newspapers printed normal, non-war news, the government began to function again (more or less), and Harry could walk around London without being mobbed every step of the way (although he did still wear low-brimmed hats and non-descript clothing as a safety measure). Eventually, magical Britain began to settle into peacetime.
But peace is quiet, and, unfortunately for Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't used to quiet. He began to itch for something to occupy his time. He, Ron, and Hermione were planning on working at the Ministry eventually. The Ministry, however, was undergoing a complete top-to-bottom renovation. The Wizarding World wanted to start fresh after the horrible reign of terror, and that meant an entirely new Ministry of Magic. What that meant for Harry, though, was that until construction was complete, he had nothing to do. Hermione took classes at a magical University and Ron seemed content to help out around the Burrow and relax, but Harry was still restless.
Hermione finally came up with the idea for Harry to restore his family's house in Godric's Hollow. She'd done a little digging and discovered that after Halloween of '81, no one had touched the house and the deeds to the property still belonged to the Potter family—by default, to Harry. Harry latched on to this idea like a drowning man grabs a life preserver. The very same day she mentioned it, he Apparated to Godric's Hollow, constructed some heavy-duty privacy wards with Bill's help, and set to work.
It was now week two of Project Rebuild Harry's House and Harry was on a roll. So far, he had cleared all the rubbish and debris from the wreckage and was beginning to clear the house of all its previous belongings. He was astonished to find that the furniture, possessions, and other personal effects of his parents' were still there, as untouched as if they'd only been living there last week. Hermione conjectured that the wards Dumbledore originally constructed for the Potters' safety had remained after their deaths, preventing any outsiders from entering the house and looting it.
At first, Harry had been extremely reluctant to disturb anything. He was intensely aware this was the house he would've grown up in in an ideal world and he was loathe to change it from how his parents left it. He couldn't help but wander among the rooms, wondering at how different his life would've been if Voldemort hadn't attacked. He would sit in the furniture and wonder, Is this where my father used to sit? Looking out the kitchen window, he'd think, This is the view my mother would've had while she made dinner every night.
Worst of all the rooms, though, was the nursery. Harry had found a plaque on the hallway floor that read, 'Harry's Room'. It had obviously been knocked off the door when Voldemort attacked, and he was reminded bitterly of a very similar sign that still hung on Ron's bedroom door. The first day he was there, Harry stood in the doorway for what felt like hours, looking at the walls of what would have been his bedroom. The fourth wall had been blown out by the blast of Voldemort's backfired Killing Curse, and most of the furniture was overturned or moved about, but if Harry squinted his eyes a bit and imagined, he could see how his childhood might've been. He wondered how the room would've changed over the years. The crib in the corner would've changed to a trundle bed, then a full size one as he grew. The cheerful animals on the walls would've been painted over—to what? Probably something Quidditch related. Or maybe Gryffindor colors, and he could've hung posters on the walls when he came home from Hogwarts during the holidays.
Harry's head would fill with all these images of his imagined childhood and he would grow giddy from longing for it—and then he'd open his eyes fully and take in the blown out wall and the damaged wardrobe. He saw the smashed toy box and overturned rocking chair and understood that what he wished for was pointless. His life had been changed irrevocably—and his parents' lives ended—because of one horrible night. All because his parents had trusted the wrong person, a friend who betrayed them to a deranged power-hungry bastard.
With this constant bitter awareness of the situation surrounding him day in and day out, Harry felt his life-long curious streak rear its head. He was consumed with a need to know his parents better. He wanted to understand why he'd had to live with the Dursleys. Harry wanted to know what had led to the decision to switch Secret-Keepers—and what exactly had they been thinking when they went into hiding?
As he pondered these questions, Harry found he wanted to learn more about his parents in general. Beyond their names, birthdays, and a few vague mentions from other people, Harry knew nothing about them. He began to search doggedly for anything that could help him get to know these people that had been taken from him so long ago. He read their letters and papers, sifted through endless stacks of photos and albums, sorted through their Hogwarts memorabilia, tried on his father's clothes, and cooked with his mother's recipes. But still, no matter how close he tried to get to them, Harry's curiosity remained unsatisfied. He felt he could never know enough about James and Lily Potter. There had to be something more to learn…
After another week had gone by, Harry found it. He was going through his mother's desk drawers, which mostly held papers from St. Mungos (Harry had found out his mother was a Healer) and letters from her friends and fellow Order members. What he discovered that morning, however, was something entirely different than a health report or friendly letter.
The papers he found were in a large Muggle envelope in the top right hand drawer. It had been sealed magically, which was interesting by itself, but what drew Harry to it were the words written on the front: 'For Harry'. His heart began to beat a little faster in anticipation. He quickly slit the envelope with his wand and pulled out a bundle of papers. There was a huge stack of them, all covered in the same handwriting—Lily's handwriting, Harry recognized—and they were bound together with a thin green ribbon. There was a note pinned to it:
In the event of my death, please give these to my son, Harry James Potter, when he comes of age. There are also individual envelopes that should be delivered exactly on the date marked in the upper left hand corner.
And that was all. His heart was beating faster than ever and a fluttering began in his stomach as he looked at the heading of the first page.
Dear Baby,
He frowned. Baby? Was that a term of endearment? Were these romantic letters or something? Why would his mother want him to have these? But then he read the next few lines:
Erm, hello. I'm your mum. I'm Lily Potter, your mother.
Harry froze, his heart clenching almost painfully in his chest as he stared at the words on the page. I'm your mum. These were letters… letters that Lily Potter had written to him while he was a baby. His brain felt numb but he clutched the papers to him almost reverently and quickly cut the ribbon holding them all together. He pulled the first page away from the rest, slid down the wall to sit on the floor, and began to read.
tbc