Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, plot lines or events in the Harry Potter novels. They are the property of JK Roweling, and I do not infringe upon any of that ownership.
AN: This is in Harry's pov even though I never say so during the fic.
Lilly
I never knew my mother. I am told I have her eyes, though I don't know, all the photos I have of her are in black and white or taken at too far a distance to see clearly. I've been told she was kind, loving to those who needed it the most. Sometimes when I'm sleeping I think I can hear her voice, softly cooing some lullaby I don't remember. I've been told my mother loved my father, that they were happy together, and happy to have me. I suppose it could be true. People rarely talk on their persons, it has always been about how great they were, how powerful, how they were my parents.
When I was younger I used to dream that they would come and take me home, to a large house that smelt of wild flowers. That my mother would hold me in her arms and love me. Sometimes I would dream that they were on holiday, only gone temporarily, but would be back any day. Other times my mind would drift to castles and lords and ladies. I always thought my mother would be beautiful, in flowing gowns like the pictures in my history books. She never wore anything like that in the photos I have, she was always covered in school robes or muggle jeans and sweaters. I don't even know what her wedding dress looked like.
I've never seen a picture of my mother pregnant. Surly if it were such a happy occasion there would have been pictures, proof that I had once resided inside this woman's body. There weren't, I simply seemed to appear at about a month old in baby pictures. She is only in a few of these, holding me closely, and peppering my small head with kisses. It's when I see these that I can see the affection on her face.
I don't know much of my early years of life, only a few scattered stories. My aunt does not like to discuss anything with me, let alone my childhood. I like to think I was a happy child, of one sort or another. That I had play fellows, and toys. My mother would have bought me toys, in one photo she was holding a stuffed hippogriff, playing with me as I lay in her arms.
It's hard sometimes to look at these. To see a woman I don't know holding me. Sometimes I wonder what her laugh would sound like. Simple things, things that every child knows about their mother. Yet I do not.
I know I love my mother, though I do not know her. I know that I am grateful for her sacrifice so that I may live. I am happy to know what little I know about her. For no matter the uncertainties of this I am her child, her son. I am the child of Lilly Evans Potter, and that is something I shall forever hold dear to my heart.
AN: Please review. I like to know weither or no I suck.