Author's Note: This was written for tabitha666 as requested for Until the End- a Harry Potter Comment Ficathon.
Prompt: Lily, James, Harry, Dumbledore.
Lily and James, worried they might die decide to each write a letter to baby Harry, just in case. When their fears are proven correct. It looks like the letters will never get to Harry. Luckily, Dumbledore finds them and keeps them for Harry. He gives them to Harry when Harry turns 16.
Oh, and I'll get to writing the sequel to An Annoying Event in a few minutes. Hopefully it'll be up within a week. Ditto with Tenebrous.
Lily Evans Potter cast a worried look outside her window, still not fully trusting the Fidelius Charm. Almost as if it were mocking the poor wench, there was what looked like a flicker in the ward. Lily widened her eyes and stared intently at it, but nothing else happened. Maybe it was just a trick of the light or her eyes were going bad.
But Lily knew better. She couldn't delude herself with such thoughts- especially in the middle of a war.
She didn't want to tell him.
She didn't have to tell him.
She did have to tell him.
"What's wrong, Lils?" James Potter asked, looking up from where his son lay in his crib. Like a little cherub.
"I- I- I think we might not make it through this," Lily said slowly. James blinked, a sign for Lily to continue. "Well, we probably will but- but just in case, we should do something. We should, um, write a letter to Harry, telling him everything he needs to know." The red-headed woman smiled weakly at her husband, who grinned grimly.
"Good idea, Lils," he said in his low voice. "You still have some quills, ink and parchment?" Lily nodded. "Excellent. I'll stay in here and watch Harry while you write, 'kay?"
"Of course." As Lily turned to leave, James called out to her.
"And we will make it through this, don't you doubt it," he said firmly. "We can trust Sirius."
James was right of course. They could trust Sirius Black.
But not his judgment. Or Peter Pettigrew.
The charred remains that were the Potter's home looked seemingly untouched as an old man with a long, silver beard and vibrant purple robes walked through them.
There was a single tear in his left, blue eye, underneath his half-moon spectacles.
Something caught the old man's eye suddenly. It was a box- blackened and burned but nonetheless, whole. He opened the small chest and inside lay two perfect envelopes, untouched. One was crisp, white and had a blue wax seal, the other was more of a yellow shade with a red seal.
The outside of the envelopes both said, 'Harry Potter' in unmistakable handwriting. Another tear, this time in his right eye.
Albus Dumbledore couldn't bring himself to shrink the chest- the thing felt almost sacred- so just carried it in plain sight as he walked to the Apparition point of Godric's Hollow.
The Headmaster had a box in his arm.
The thing was too special to shrink it seemed.
Severus recognized the box- he'd given it to Lily as a birthday present, leaving no name, no signature, no evidence that it had been from him.
That had been her last birthday.
Severus decided to find out what was in that box.
The Potion's Master had always been full of loathing and contempt for Harry, but one particular Thursday he'd seemed not only loathful and contemptuous, but snappish as well, and a bit subdued in his antagonism. He also seemed distracted and looked even a bit sad- if the slug was capable of an emotion other than anger, fear, and twisted happiness.
As Harry walked into Snape's store to grab a bezoar- which meant passing the git's office- he noticed something. A white envelope with a blue seal and a name scribbled on it. Harry recognized the handwriting, but couldn't remember who's it was. It definitely wasn't Ron's, nor Hermione's- maybe Ginny's? But why would- no, it definitely was Ginny's handwriting.
Eventually, Harry became distracted as well, and as a result, dropped a lacewing fly in his cauldron at the wrong moment, causing a plume of Umbridge-worthy pink smoke to run up, then dissolve. Though no obvious harm had been done, Dean had acted rather peculiar that day and Harry had lost 20 points from Gryffindor and had gained two weeks' detention.
While placing live, gooey slugs into a jar using his mouth, Harry decided that the handwriting belonged to Professor McGonagall or maybe even Bellatrix Lestrange- the bastard was a Death Eater- and erased the whole episode from his already chock-full memory.
It wasn't until his 16th birthday that the envelope- plus its partner- came back down on him in an emotional crash.
Albus looked at the boy. He had messy black hair that would never stay neat, green eyes that reminded the old man painfully of the boy's mother, and more scars- physical and mental- than anyone his age, no, anyone should have to bear.
Harry looked questioningly at his mentor, his friend, a man he trusted, someone he knew would always be there for him.
"Take these," Dumbledore said in a tired voice, holding out the two envelopes. Harry widened his eyes, recognizing the white one. He looked at Dumbledore who smiled sadly. "They're from your parents."
"When did you get these?" Harry asked slowly, his eyes planted on his names on the envelopes.
"Three years ago." Harry's eyes ignited with anger but the fire quickly died out, replaced by sadness.
"Why didn't you tell me?" was all he asked. No rage, no yells, no accusations. Dumbledore sighed. The boy was not a boy- he was a man. An adult living in a child's body.
"You weren't ready yet," Dumbledore answered simply. Harry shook his head- long ago he gave up on trying to figure out the man's riddles that were woven into his words- and just opened the first envelope, the yellow one. The seal was already broken.
Harry,
If you're reading this, then I'm dead. Your mother's probably dead too. Hell, everyone good in this world is probably dead, except for you and maybe a few other fortunate souls- or should I say unfortunate? Because you lot are probably like angels living in the devil's realm- not a pleasant experience I can guess.
Anyways, I want you to know that your mother and I loved you. We loved you so much and wanted to see you on your first actual broom ride (meaning flying more than a foot up in the air), your face when you receive your Hogwarts letter, and I'm sure your mum wanted to pack your brain chock-full of spells and potions and history and things before you were even seven.
Now keep your chin up, Harry; there's always tomorrow. Remember that.
Your proud father, James Potter
Harry wordlessly opened the next envelope, placing his father's on Dumbledore's desk carefully.
Dear Harry,
Where should I begin? How I met your father? What you were like as an infant? Or why everything's the way it is- in other words, why I'm dead. Well, I don't have much time, and I'm sure you know everything about Voldemort already, so I'll just tell you about your father and I and our little family.
James- that's your dad- and I were in the same year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was a right bastard you should know. He picked on Severus Snape- an old friend of mine- and I hated him. He was also chummy with Sirius Black, heartthrob and most conceited brat of our year, Remus Lupin, Prefect who never really kept his friends in line, and Peter Pettigrew-
Harry stopped before reading the rat's name over and over again. He clenched the paper tightly, wrinkling it on several edges.
-the most cowardly and shy of the bunch. I never really paid him much mind; he was just like an extra wheel. That probably sounds horrible. Please don't think I'm horrible, Harry, I'm not. I just didn't really… know Peter that well.
More on your father: In my sixth year, I wasn't in love with James, or even friends with him, I was just tolerant of him, I guess. Now, it was right after a Quidditch match, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw (Ravenclaw crushed us). I'd agreed to wait for my friend Nancy- a Hufflepuff- and because your mother is very stupid sometimes, I decided to wait for Nancy in the stands instead of somewhere nice, dry and warm- it was pouring that day.
Did I mention I love the colour red? I love the colour blue more of course, but red would have to be my second favourite colour.
Anyways, out of nowhere, someone called, "Evans! Evans, you cold?" It was coming from the sky, so I was confused of course. And I couldn't look up without having my eyeballs pelted and murdered from the downpour, so I just looked from side to side- no one there.
I continued to look around, but couldn't see anyone. Then the rain suddenly stopped and an onslaught of warmth coursed through me- my clothes also dried. I finally looked up and there your father was, perched on one of those flying broom contraptions that scare the mickey out of me, and holding a red umbrella over my head in one hand and his wand in the other. He smiled a very lopsided grin.
"You're such an idiot sometimes, Evans," he remarked, still smiling. I rolled my eyes and began to walk away, but Potter kept on talking, following me with his umbrella as well. "You should've seen yourself; you were shivering! I thought you were top of the class! You could've at least cast a warming spell or Transfigured an umbrella, but no you have to stand there like a little damsel in distress and look all perfect and save-able."
By the way, if you have saving-people thing, you inherited it from your dad. Though he was a bit choosy in who he chose to save. Hopefully you're not the same. (Not to insult James or anything, but it's true)
"Did you just say I looked perfect?" I asked, looking James in the face. He didn't even flinch, just continued to smile.
"Yep!" he said. "And before you go on about something stupid like us being enemies or something, I don't want to be enemies anymore, Evans. Or should I call you Lily? How about Lils?"
"You can call me Lily," I said slowly. Your father smiled.
"Good! Then how about we go to Hogsmeade together? I'll be waiting in the common room at 9-ish?" I nodded slowly, flabbergasted, and your father waved at me before flying away. He seemed to forget that it was raining.
Well, one thing led to another, and somehow, I found myself saying, "I do." In front of a priest with your father beside me.
Now do you wonder about yourself? If you do, feel free to say so; you won't sound stuck-up, just curious, like me.
I remember the day you were born. It was sweltering hot and one of the Muggles from St. Peter's- that's the small Presbyterian church in Godric's Hollow- had come by to help me with your delivery. See, I'm a Muggle-born and since I was five, I dreamed of giving birth with my husband at my side and with the help of a sixty-something midwife. Silly, I know, but children's dreams aren't meant to be crushed.
The midwife's name was Grace Kiepler, 57 years of age (she was as close to 60 as I could get). If you ever run into her, thank her and tell her your name; she'll remember you. You did, after all, bite her finger with your non-existent teeth a few minutes after you were born, and you had a very strong grip- or shall I say bite?
Your first word was, "Tim!" Tim was our neighbour's dog who you were infatuated with. You were two years old.
Now your first broomstick ride was a disaster! Your father just plonked you on the stick and let you fly on your own in the backyard. Our yard was charmed of course and the broom couldn't go higher than an inch, but somehow you still managed to fall off and topple into a plot of sunflowers.
You can imagine my reaction when Sirius gave you your own broom as a birthday present.
You're crying right now in your little crib and your father's calling me, so I'll end this letter now, as it's long enough, by saying that I love you. Your father loves you. Sirius loves you. Peter and Remus love you.
Harry had to use enormous effort to keep from tearing off the part with Peter's name.
Even Dumbledore and Hagrid care for you. See? So many people love you already and you can't even pronounce their names! (Currently, you pronounce Sirius' name as, "Seer-ohs")
Your father and I will always be with you, even in death.
Love, your mum, Lily Evans Potter
There was a tear-stain next to Lily's name.
A new one grew beside it.