In the Department of Mysteries, there is a door that cannot be opened. Lillian Rose Evans, a young worker in the DoM, as it is called, studies the door. The only internship available in the DoM was given to her when she applied, the other DoM workers quirking their lips and chuckling at her vigour, fully expecting the seventeen year old to grow tired, impatient and disillusioned of their truly illustrious Department. Lillian Rose Evans, however, surpasses expectation, moving forwards in her internship to become a fully-fledged Operative.
Or rather, Lily Potter, by the winter of nineteen seventy-nine. Names are power, other workers mutter at the official, magical change. Motherhood. Purity. A particularly literate witch quotes Thomas Blake. The modest rose puts forth a thorn; the humble sheet a threat'ning horn: while the lily white shall in love delight, nor a thorn nor a thread stain her beauty bright.
Within the Department of Mysteries, alone and working late one night, leans against the door and sighs, thinking of everything she wants and despairs over. James – her love, her husband, her Jamie, her once-hated peer. We can't have children, she thinks. I want children, a single child, please. I wish, I wish it please. Her intent is as pure as her name and the door clicks open, Lily falling forwards into a large, circular room, a woman in the centre holding a careful bundle.
"The magic of these doors only allow the same amount of people to leave and enter them," she says, almost to herself, before she peers at Lily. "That door never opens."
"It's open now," Lily replies under her breath, looking back in amazement at the door, which through, she can see the Department, her old mentor staring at them, quill dropped from his hand. "Did you come through one of the doors?"
"Yes," the woman says, voice low. "I wonder…take him." The bundle floats over to Lily, glowing a soft scarlet. Lily is quick to get to her feet, eyes wide because no, this can't be right.
"You're just giving me-" Lily takes the bundle from the air, staring in awe at the baby. Her eyes fill with tears. "You're just giving him to me?"
"His name is Maximus."
"Big name for a little boy," Lily says, mentally scrambling in that moment. Greatest, given to Roman military men of success.
"Yes. Change it, if it suits you," the woman waves her off, before heading towards a mirror. Lily glances up at her, before becoming faintly horrified as she disappears.
"Agent, come back inside!" her mentor finally speaks. Lily hears an ominous creak and twists, eyes widening as she sees the door leading back into the Department begin to close, so slowly. Rushing, she slides through the half-open gap, holding the baby boy's head to her chest. "It opened! You must document everything you saw!"
Lily's mentor gets to his feet, ordering her about, but it all flies through one ear and out the other as she stares at the child in her arms.
I want children, a single child, please. I wish, I wish it please.
Her wish has been granted.
Cora feels like something is wrong, with how easy it was to just hand her son over. The Hat's Rules are that the same number of people that go in, must come out. At least that part of the topic made sense – two came out of Wonderland, another from the Locked Door, equalling three persons to return to their lands, no matter the where. However, the actual handing over of Maximus…disturbs her.
I was not like this with my first child, Cora thinks. She was a hindrance. My best chance at life rested upon her being gone. Maximus-
She had given her son away, knowing that when the Dark Curse was to strike, he must be grown. Cora will find him later, in twenty-eight years, when the Curse breaks. The second child of Rumplestiltskin, conceived in Darkness, must be used – but none will ever know he exists, except Cora.
My best chance at life rests upon him staying hidden.
"What do you reckon that arch was?" Harry questions Hermione as they entered the dark circular room, once more.
"I don't know, but whatever it was, it was dangerous," she says firmly, strictly flicking her wand and muttering flagrate to inscribe yet another fiery cross on the door. Harry doesn't nod in agreement as the walls spin again – there was something about the arch that called to him and those whispers…
The next door Harry approaches is locked. His hand rattles the strangely warm handle, as if someone had been holding onto it, but still, the door doesn't budge.
"What's wrong?"
"It's locked," Harry throws his weight against it, belatedly wondering whether the door opens outwards or inwards, quickly checking, pulling it quickly. Predictably, seeing as the door is locked, Potter, it still doesn't move.
"This is it, then, isn't it?" Ron starts excitedly, quickly coming to Harry's aide as he tries to push it open by sure force. "Bound to be!"
"Get out of the way," Hermione instructs sharply. They are quick to move. Nothing good comes from crossing Hermione, Harry thinks, remembering the sight and sound of her punching Malfoy in the face. "Alohomora!" Nothing happens and Harry has a stroke of genius, even as he feels a tingle in his spine.
The door won't open for us.
Still, his hope wins out – it's a challenge, a game to get the door open. "Sirius' knife!" Harry exclaims, grabbing said magical blade from his pocket, sliding it through the crack between the door and the wall. A prickling sensation runs through his hand, like static shock or pins and needles and excitedly, he shoves at the door. Nothing happens. Worse, Harry realises, is that Sirius' knife is melting in his hand. He stares at the silver that drips to the ground, the handle in his hand just that – a handle.
Oh, his excitement wavers, heart thumping in his chest. Against his shoulder, from the door, he feels a sudden change in temperature, going from cool to a gentle warmth that freaks him out, pulling away sharply.
"Right," Hermione frowns, "We're leaving that room."
Flagrate tags the door, the red X burning in Harry's mind as the room spins once more and they choose another door.
After Voldemort is killed, Harry expects to spend a summer regaining his wits. It's a tradition that revolved around Hogwarts and knowing that the Auror Academy expected him on the eighth of September for their bi-annual induction, leaves the Man-Who-Conquered free to…
Well.
Apparently the War doesn't end with Voldemort. Death Eaters are still being tagged and processed, funerals – oh, the funerals – taking place left, right and centre, the Ministry being slowly weeded of corruption and Imperiused workers. Harry, living in Grimmauld Place with Kreacher, who gleefully instructed him on how to reboot the wards and finally rid it of Dumbledore's fading Fidelius, gets the Daily Prophet every morning. Inside are short, snappy editorials and articles about the continued clean-up.
How did I not see? Harry asks himself, knowing the answer to his own question. For the last year he'd been busy taking part in a three-man treasure hunt slash assassination quest to defeat the ultimate leader of the Dark Side – he had been removed from everything, uninvolved with the politics and systematic brutality of the new pureblood regime and in general, the War. Harry doesn't know whether to feel guilty about that or not, but tries to keep it to himself as much as he can while still socialising and visiting his new godson, Teddy.
On his eighteenth birthday during breakfast, Harry unexpectedly receives two letters: one muggle, thick and disturbing and one wizarding, that is decidedly creepy, the owl that had been carrying it beady-eyed and too still for a normal post-owl and the envelope covered in red runes that Harry recognises from Hermione's old textbooks. He opens the magical one first, a little surprised to see the envelope sealed with the Ministry of Magic logo, but far more confused to find the two inside envelopes to be embossed with two completely unfamiliar crests.
"To Harry James Potter," he mutters, adjusting his glasses on his nose as he opens one randomly. "If you are receiving this, then I am dead."
Harry skips over the text to the signature and almost has a heart-attack.
Lily R. Potter
Harry drinks in the letter, but by the end he is half heartbroken and half sure that this is a prank. Crying over it, Harry ignores the other envelopes – muggle and wizarding, the owl still not leaving – and floo-calls Ron, his haggard friend quickly coming over, Ginny in tow.
"Hey," Harry croaks at the sight of his ex. Ginny takes the letter, reading over it with Ron at her shoulder.
"Blimey, mate, adopted?"
"I don't know whether to believe it or not," Harry says, before opening his mokeskin pouch around his neck, summoning his mothers letter to Sirius. "Check the handwriting for me?"
Ron takes it, Ginny's wand tapping each quickly. Harry stares at her, catching sight of livid scars twisting up past the collar of her shirt from her back. He's snapped out of his emotional daze by Ginny speaking.
"It's a match. The handwriting is legitimate. Lily Potter wrote this."
"What about the other letters?" Ron pushes, Harry hesitating before gently taking the second part of his Ministry-forwarded gift. Before he opens it, however, Harry glances up.
"Why would the Ministry be holding letters from my mum for me?"
Ginny clears her throat, "The Department of Mysteries, you mean – that crest, it's the DoM seal." Harry glances at the letter's black wax sealing, eyeing the starburst surrounding otherwise blank wax. "You should probably open it."
Harry looks to Ron, who nods seriously. Taking a breath, Harry opens the envelope, the letter turning out to be a halved folder. Opening it out, Harry has to blink as a dizziness goes through him, Ginny and Ron both twisting violently away.
"Merlin's soggy-" Ron starts, before Harry's dizziness disappears and he can read the file. Once he finishes studying the first page, he flips through the next and the next, skimming the written content, fingers reaching out to trace the people in the pensieve-photographs, his young mother- Lily, Lily Potter, falling forwards through the door and laying there until he- me, that's me in that bundle, is gifted to her unceremoniously.
"Come look, Ron," Harry mutters, slightly obsessed with the pictures where he can see both Lily and the aptly named Mystery Sorceress. Ron turns, coming to sit by him at the table.
"Finally – invite Ginny to see and she'll be able to look past the really obvious secrecy spells on this thing," Ron takes the file from Harry briefly, looking through it.
"Oh, uh…Ginny, come look," he says, the second redhead turning to face him again. She looks a bit green. "Are you alright?"
"I don't do well with secrecy spells, too nosy," she gives a strained smile before Harry turns his attention back to the photos, gut rolling with unease at both the situation and their relationship. "What about the muggle letter?"
Harry reaches for it. Going through its contents reveals muggle adoption certificates – where he's called Maximus and when it comes to professions, Lily and James Potter respectively put private scientific researcher and private military contractor – an official name-change certificate – changing from Maximus to Harry James Potter – and bunch of paperwork that Harry has no hope in understanding.
"I can't believe this. I'm…I have parents. My mother just…gave me away," Harry says, voice distant but pained. Ron claps a hand on his shoulder.
"No, she didn't. Your mum was an amazing witch who sacrificed her life for you." Across the table, Ginny reaches out, their hands grasping.
"Thanks, Ron," Harry feels his eyes burning and rubs them furiously. "Thanks. I- I know. Mum and- mum and dad were, are, my parents. Always have been, always will be. Just because my…my birth mother came from behind a locked door-portal room that the file talks about identifying, doesn't mean she's not out there though. I want to find her."
"We'll help you, Harry, you know we will." Ginny squeezes lightly, Harry squeezing back.
"I know."
