He will never understand the anguish I have suffered. This is both a silent prayer and an undeniable fact. Here, at the end of things, he will understand my sacrifice. This much I know.
I hope he can forgive the lack of lullabies, the mother's advice I could never give, the lonely birthdays. I sung, in the time that we had, and after that, too, but he never heard. I recited wisdom, but it fell on deaf ears. I was there. I was always there.
I waited so long for this moment, too long, just for the chance to be seen and heard one more time. There's so much I want to say.
I hold my breath and time stands still as he squeezes his eyes closed. My eyes. They are one and the same. My heart leaps as they flutter open. He sees me. Finally.
I reach out to him, but his hand slips through mine; I am still nothing more than a shade. He cannot imagine the agony of having him so close with worlds still between us. It's all I can do not to cry, but I promised James I wouldn't. So I smile, pretending like the tears don't exist. I steel my emotions so my voice won't betray me as I speak.
"You've been so brave, sweetheart."
People had called me brave once, long ago. I heard them, though they didn't know I was listening. I didn't have an ounce of bravery in me, certainly not that night. I was terrified. Couldn't stop shaking. But I did what any mother would have done. I did what I had to do. I would give my life again, if I had one to spare, if it would mean saving his. But nothing can spare him his destiny.
We both know this. I can see it in his eyes. Yet he marches towards it, head held high, ready to conquer death. In him, I can see all the bravery I wish I possessed.
"Why are you here? All of you?"
I remember the things he does not. I remember how it felt to hold him, pressed to my chest, with his heartbeat echoing mine. I remember sneaking into his room just to watch him sleep and to listen to the soft lullaby his breathing made. I remember the coos and nonsensical jabber we made at each other; it was our very own language, long before he learned how to talk.
These are my memories, but somewhere within him he harbors them, too. We forged them together.
"We never left."
How many years has it been now? Too many. Death has a funny way of distorting all sense of time. But I was there, always, through everything. So close that I could reach out and touch him, if it would have done any good. It wouldn't. Death drives such a wedge between the living and dead that not even a mother's love can span the distance.
There was a time when the distance transfigured itself into a soul-crushing torture that ripped its way through my chest. I was so certain this was hell, watching things unravel and being powerless to do anything. It's not easy living beyond the veil.
"Stay close to me."
Oh, how I long to hug him, to scoop him in my arms one more time and surround him with the warmth of a mother's love. I want to do what mothers do and pet his head and tell him everything will be okay, even if it won't. Little white lies don't always hurt.
But not even the Resurrection Stone can make my wish come true. We are no longer of the same world. I have to be content in comforting him with the only instrument I can: my voice.
"Always."
There's so much more to say, but I know time is up. One word will have to do. I can only hope he hears everything I have buried in it, all the words and emotions that have accumulated over the years. All of it will remain unspoken. Forever.
No one said that being dead was easy. I'm content now with being nothing more than a shadow in the mirror and a whisper in the night. A heart that no longer beats can no longer truly break.
As the stone falls from his hand, I slip back into memory. After all, that's where the dead belong. He expects us to be with him, as if there was ever any doubt. He thinks he needs us; the truth is, I need him more.
I know this is not the end. Not for him, not for us. As long as he lives, we will be there, hidden in the echoes of his heart.
Author's Note: Written for the "War of Angels" Competition. Prompt: "Don't Let Me Go" by Raign. I will admit that this was very hard for me to write. I cried. A lot. I'm a big baby. I'm also a mother, so I didn't like imagining myself in Lily's shoes. If you enjoy this, please leave me a review/critique. I do so enjoy them both. Or chocolate. I also accept chocolate.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything in it is property of J.K. Rowling. The dialogue in quotations is quoted from a scene in the "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2" and belongs to Steve Kloves, author of the screenplay.