When Dumbledore first told us the prophecy, I told him firmly it wasn't Harry.
An ingrained motherly reaction, I suppose, who wants their child to have such a terrible destiny?
I suppose that at the time I believed my own denial that Harry was just like any other magical child.
Oh I wanted him to be special, of course, but by his own skills not by some crazy woman's prophecy. I wanted Harry to live in a world where he felt safe, and valued. More than anything.
In those first few months, I was safe within my denials. By Harry's first Christmas, I wasn't so sure. You see, magic is inherent, but just like walking, it is something learned. In all the books I'd read about magical babies, it was firm that the earliest a baby would show the signs of being magical was a year...the latest being perhaps six or several.
Harry was doing conscious magic, summoning and the like, by his fifth month.
It truly frightened me, for my little darling baby was showing more and more signs of being the child in the prophecy. James heralded it the second coming of Merlin, and he and Sirius were quick to teach Harry more and more spells.
Harry was like a magical sponge, absorbing everything he saw. By six months, it was impossible to keep him in his crib, or keep something away from him. He seemed naturally inclined to simply summon an item, instead of getting up and walking to it.
When I asked Alice, nervously, about young Neville, she laughed and said they weren't expecting magic for at least another six months, and asked me why I was worried...
I didn't tell her, I couldn't. We didn't even tell Dumbledore.
I hated it, I hated the woman who had made the prophecy that had marked my baby special and dangerous, and I hated the fact that it had changed our lives so much. But I never hated Harry; I loved my little boy, so, so much. I'd have bartered the world to glimpse a smile on his chubby little face. My sweet little baby, I always feared what lay in store for him. Voldemort was searching, James, Sirius, everyone knew...he was searching for my little Harry, who didn't have a clue what was going on or why he couldn't play with his playmates anymore. Dumbledore had decided it was far safer to keep Neville and Harry as far apart as possible, and I couldn't blame him...he didn't know that it was Harry that snake was looking for...how could he, when I wouldn't let anyone know but my dear circle of friends?
By the time of his first Birthday, Harry was a happy, mobile, magic caster. He didn't need a wand to pull his tricks, though it seemed to help a bit whenever he got his hands on James' or mine. With every day, I got just a little more scared for my bright little boy...When Dumbledore came to us with the idea for a secret keeper, I agreed with James and Sirius, I told Peter little, but enough...and now...I'm scared...so scared, for my little boy...I love him so much, and I don't think I could bear to lose him to that snake...or to anyone...Not my Harry.
But if something happens to James or I, I want Harry to know he's loved, that I loved him, and nothing could ever change that. I want him to grow up happy with Sirius and Remus and Peter, if James and I can't be there for him. I want him to grow up assured of his place in the world...I love you, Harry. Never doubt that your mother loved you.
Lily Potter,
Oct. 31.
