Title: Part 1–Motherhood
Rating: Gen
Spoilers: Err… whole series?
Summary: Lily reflects on motherhood—the ups and the downs—and the seemingly never-ending war.
A/N: Although growth and learning varies greatly in babies, Harry's behaviour at a little over one is modelled on my friend's dear two year old. Keep in mind that different parenting methods/stances also influence the development of children. Apologies for inconsistent styles and tenses. I really need to get a beta-reader.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters (Harry Potter, Lily Evans Potter and James Potter) belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and a bunch of other companies I don't know about. This work is for entertainment only and no copyright infringement is intended.
Motherhood
"Sometimes I think it's more that you need him than he needs you," the weary but amused voice remarked.
Lily's green eyes slowly opened to focus on her husband's figure leaning in the doorway. She must have fallen asleep herself when putting little Harry to bed. As if he could hear her thoughts, the child nestled against her bosom stirred, clenching and unclenching tiny, chubby fists. My son, she corrected herself.
Even after a little over a year, she still had trouble believing that she gave birth to this amazing small creature. Although she remembered the horrible moments of morning sickness, the constant weight pressing against her bladder, the swollen ankles and James's subsequent declaration that she should "lie down and let the lads serve my most delicate lily-flower" (he immediately retracted that when she soundly smacked him over the head and told him that sore ankles will not deter her in the least). She also recalled in the final few weeks, with slight bitterness, how she could no longer actively participate in the Order's missions and the frustration and disquiet and fear when she waited, sometimes with dear Remus, for James and Sirius to return. Oh, and she would never be able to forget the long 4 hours and 23 minutes of wave after unrelenting wave of excruciating pain as she and her child both fought for his release from the dark haven that is her womb, for his beginning of the journey known as life.
But all that was dwarfed by the pure elation (and exhaustion) in the moment she first caught sight of the small face with its eyes scrunched up and mouth wide opened to herald its arrival into the world. Her lips curled into a smile as she recalled his gentle nonsense gurgling in response to her humming soft half-lullabies (dredged up from a childhood that seemed so long ago—she feels so infinitely tired and old from this endless war), his first uncoordinated steps taken on wobbly, infant legs, and his recent attempts at mouthing words (his first being "bwuaagah" courtesy of Sirius, the foul-mouthed bastard).
Of course there were times when she and James both were almost driven to their wits ends by sleepless nights of incessant crying, the sheer panic and sense of failure when they just didn't know what was wrong and oh god why was he burning up like that? During those times of uncertainty and insecurity, she was so thankful to have James—calm, strong, sturdy James—as her support, especially as her parents were gone, as James's parents were gone too.
In all honesty, she shouldn't have been all that surprised that the sleeping boy in her arms is of her own flesh and blood as she could clearly see James in the unruly black curls, the proud, straight nose, and the curl at the corner of his lips when he grins. And when he opens his eyes, she could see herself in the vivid green irises mirroring her own, in the way he would purse his lips and frown in concentration at whatever's caught his childish fancy, and in the clear, bright look in his eyes as he laughs in wondrous delight at his father and best friends' antics. And his fierce determination and independence—that she swears he got from James while he would muss her hair and retort that their boy got it from a certain fiery, redhead beauty.
At that thought, her brows furrowed and she unconsciously tightened her hold at the warring, fiercely maternal emotions of pride and worry—pride because already he wants to do things for himself. And worry. Worry about the blasted never-ending war, his future, her and James's (short) futures, and that frightening prophesy. She knows it is horribly selfish, but Lily almost wishes that it were Alice's child who has to bear the terribly heavy burden and face the fated death alone.
So engrossed in her tumultuous thoughts was she that they were only interrupted when she felt the mattress behind her dip from the added weight of her husband's form.
"Has he been wanting to sleep in his cot again?" James murmured into her ear and a heavy, warm arm wrapped itself securely about her waist.
"Yes, but he doesn't fight if I put him to sleep with us in the bed though," she replied, still frowning.
"Well, he's probably resigned himself to be mummy's personal teddy bear," James's huffed laughter blew a strand of her brilliant red hair across her face and Lily could not help but quirk her own lips in response. "It'll be alright Lils, our boy will be fine. We will be fine. Just take one day at a time, eh? Worry about tomorrow when it comes. I'm just glad to spend one more day with you and Harry."
She spun around, mindful not to wake Harry, to face her husband only to find his countenance relaxed in deep, exhaustive sleep. Silly James, since when have our positions been reversed? Since when were you the one quelling my worries? She sighed, brushing a lock of unruly black hair from his forehead. I'm glad too, to spend one more day with both of you, with all the lovely people we know and have known. Just one day at a time.And with those last thoughts, she fell back into uneasy slumber between her son and husband.
To be continued...