Years of Struggle
Memoir
Lily Potter returned to Hogwarts for the spring term of her first year in company with her two brothers and Scorpius Malfoy. The previous September, Lily had been sorted into Ravenclaw House, an unexpected development since her brothers were in Slytherin while her father and mother and nearly all of her cousins were or had been in Gryffindor. Lily's parents, Harry Potter and Ginevra (Ginny) Weasley had both been much more interested in the marvelous magical crash and bang sport of quidditch than they had been in scholarship, the acknowledged obsession of most Ravenclaws.
Even Lily did not know what to think of her prospects when the Sorting Hat made its announcement. The hat had muttered to itself for a few seconds before asking, "What do you like to read?"
"Tales of Beedle the Bard," Lily answered, omitting the 'Of course' that wanted to adhere to the short declaration.
"Hmmm…" the hat had said, surprised that a first year read well enough to read Beedle and understand him. "Better be Ravenclaw, then."
The hat sounded as mystified as Lily felt. She had always pictured herself in Slytherin's emerald green or Gryffindor's crimson. There was a polo in her trunk, from the WHOOSH boutique, that was crimson with gold accents. Lily wondered, as she walked from the stool to the Ravenclaw table, if the polos changed colors magically when a witch was sorted.
Ravenclaw House was, of course, delighted to have Lily Potter join them. One or two Ravenclaws knew the Potters casually but Lily didn't have any actual friends there. Even so, she was Harry Potter's daughter and her brothers had distinguished themselves as Slytherin athletes. The apple didn't fall far from the tree. Lily would find her footing and in time, it would be revealed just what she was doing in Ravenclaw.
Lily went back to Hogwarts for spring term with a journal. Cobalt blue covers held a bit more than a half-inch of very fine rag bond, the next best writing surface to parchment and much more economical. As soon as the commencement-of-spring-term feast concluded, Lily went to her desk and took out her journal. The monumental events of winter break hadn't been recorded. Lily didn't know why. In later years, when she was an accomplished writer, she would speculate it was an instinctive desire to let a little passage of time help her put things in perspective. By letting her emotional responses temper in the cool winter air, she would see clearly without feeling quite so intensely.
She didn't know all of the details but she understood something extraordinary had happened when James and Iere spent Christmas night together at Owl Cottage. Differences in definitions aside, James and Iere were engaged. At least in Lily's mind. That was how she began to record the events of her first winter break, the evening of her return to Hogwarts.
"A new journal!"
Lily wrote.
"Perfect for Ravenclaw with its blue cover. The tag said it was from Scorpius but I have doubts. It seems more likely Astoria picked it out. I plan to send her a thank-you note. My brother James and his girlfriend, Iere Greengrass, are official. He gave her a ring to wear. They say they aren't engaged because James has to finish Hogwarts and take his NEWTS then he might want to play professional quidditch if he can find a place on a team. He gave her an antique, heirloom ring with a ruby as big as my heart and they're just friends! HA!"
Lily kept her thoughts to herself, except when she wrote them down in her journal. Lily had been born with a strong sense of propriety about the things she learned from other people. If anyone told her something in confidence it stayed that way.
James and Albus were keen to get back to quidditch. Unlike some, they both enjoyed flying in cold weather. James said it was invigorating. He credited flying in the cold with cleansing of the capillaries.
Something about James' evolution over the Christmas break fed back into his quidditch game. He flew a bit more freely. He was more fluid on his broom, better able to reach bludgers and deflect them from the Slytherin players. The scouts for the professional teams began attending matches after Christmas. The serious players were still flying and individual games were peaking. By sixth year the players who could develop pro-level skills were identifiable. James had been on some scouts' lists of prospects since his fourth year.
"Hearsay is telling me your career prospects have taken a new look," Iere wrote in her first letter in February. "Will I not get my farm manager? Is his head being turned?"
James replied by the same owl who'd brought Iere's letter.
"Very funny. We will have to talk and I'll do whatever we decide to do together. It is early. No offers yet."
James tried to confine his thoughts to quidditch and NEWTS but it was hard. Some days, concentration simply eluded him. Quidditch wasn't a problem. Once he kicked off he was looking for bludgers and that was it. Texts and parchment were altogether different. Problems with the negotiations to end the Third Goblin-Wizarding War were not as compelling as thinking about Iere, her face, hair, flawless skin, the warmth and good feelings generated by being in her company.
Iere, meanwhile, kept busy with her projects.
Her Diagon Alley boutique, WHOOSH, did well. She employed a small number of younger witches, recent Hogwarts graduates, with talents and interests in fashion and business. The boutique had been around long enough that the witches from the early days were moving along in one field or another. Some had used their time wisely and earned business degrees while working for WHOOSH.
The new Nott Hall was nearly complete. Iere was still unsure why she decided to build anew. She suspected there was a mental connection between the circumstances of the old manor's destruction and a determination to rebuild as a response to her detestable father's final actions. Something inside Iere would not allow Llewellyn Nott's last crime spree to stand, unanswered. Her sense of justice required her to create a positive to cleanse the irredeemable negativity of her father's life.
Lily Potter wrote two letters every Friday evening. One went to Harry, the other to Iere. The letters weren't identical. Harry got straightforward reportage to bring him up to date. Iere got a letter from a young friend who reported events but included a sentence or two of perspective.
"James had a good game on Saturday. Did he write and tell you?" Lily might write in Harry's letter. Iere's version would have a bit more of what writers call local color.
"Iere—Oh! I wish you could have come to James and Albus' match on Saturday. James was all over the pitch. You would think all of the bludgers would know by now. Thank Merlin we weren't playing. It was Slytherin v. Gryffindor and the stuff of legend. Emerald Green, flying so fast it looked like Slytherin had a handicap of two players for every Gryff. Albus is Number Two Chaser, the one who drops in behind One or Three, whichever one gets the quaffle and leads the attack. It's said to be the hardest position to play well, according to James Potter, noted quidditch commentator. I'm told One or Three leads, fakes this way or that then either takes the shot or dumps off. Two has to push defenders off AND be available for the pass, nearly always followed immediately by his own shot on goal. It certainly is fun to watch. In the end, James made Gryffindor's lives miserable by keeping the bludgers in their faces and out of Slytherin's. Albus scored ten goals, an even one hundred points for Slytherin. And the Slytherin Seeker captured the snitch."
Both letters tended to end the same way. In the case of quidditch reports:
"I don't look forward to Ravenclaw taking them on."
Iere saved her longer and more detailed letters for James. She always wrote Lily back, though.
"Lily—Your letter made my weekend! I don't have much to tell you that is new, except for one thing. I walked through Nott Hall with Harry today. He agreed with me that the builder has reached what they call 'Substantial Completion.' I've paid the builder, minus five percent that will await his finish work, two or three days more at most. Sue will begin taking some things over this week. The library is ready for the volumes that have been in restoration. Now I'm anxious for Easter break because I will be able to take everyone for the Grand Tour."
"Here you go," Lily said.
It was Sunday morning and she'd just gotten Iere's lovely letter. The owl had delivered it to the Ravenclaw table, where Lily read it through, twice. Then she crossed over to Slytherin and sat next to Albus, directly across from James.
James took the parchment and began reading. Lily, using her fingers, picked up a monstrous slice of bacon from the platter between them, put it on a slice of toast, which she then folded over and began eating. Albus, a confirmed vegetarian, looked on with distaste.
"I know," said Lily. "I agree with you, but, you see, it is BACON!"
Scorpius laughed, a great guffaw, drawing the attention of Rose Granger-Weasley. Rose disapproved, according to the look she gave Lily. Lily made a mental note to get Scorpius alone at the earliest opportunity and ask what he thought that look meant. Scorpius and Albus were fifteen. Was Rose marking territory? Was she serious or putting down a marker, strictly on speculation?
"Thanks," said James, one corner of his mouth pulling up in a crooked grin. He handed Iere's letter back to Lily.
"Want to read?" Lily asked Albus and by extension, Scorpius.
"Nah," said Albus.
"Sure," said Scorpius, reaching for the letter.
"Hey, the new house is almost done!" Scorpius exclaimed, almost as soon as he took the parchment.
"Let me see!" said Albus.
Lily looked at James, who shook his head just slightly at the absurdity.
"Albus," James mouthed.
Lily looked up. James hadn't noticed her coming but Victoire Weasley had sidled in on his right side. Lily grinned in eager anticipation. Victoire had concocted a very funny and detailed conceit over several years. She knew James, her first cousin, was not attracted to her so she sought opportunities to make advances for James to reject. He never failed to reject her, either. It was hilarious, for some reason. Victoire spoke perfect French and English but when she offered herself to James, she affected a heavily-accented Franglais.
"JEE-mee! Zee rumors! Zey are true? You are betrothed?" Victoire demanded. She already knew the answer. Everyone in the immediate area knew she knew.
Victoire had her left arm locked around James' neck, holding him steady, as she used her bosom to slowly caress his right ear. It was certainly inappropriate, if carried too far, but Hogwarts had seen it all before and understood it was strictly intra-Weasley humor and Victoire would know when she had reached the bounds of decency.
"Victoire! You know we can't—it's against the law, some places!" James protested, red-faced, trying to pull away without laying hands on Victoire.
"And you gave…HER…a ring, for Christmas?" Victoire demanded as she leaned back to let James appreciate her pouty face. She knew the answer to that question, too.
"I'm off the market, Victoire," said James.
Lily suppressed a great laugh, Albus feigned complete neutrality and Scorpius looked on in wonder. Scorpius' family was small and not nearly as boisterous or entertaining as the Potter-Weasley clan.
"Zat is WONDERFUL!" Victoire exclaimed, following up with an attempt to kiss James on his mouth but settling for mutual pecks on the cheek. "I am so happy for my darling JEE-mee. Zis femme, I must have zee tete a tete wiz hair, she must never mistreat my JEE-mee or she weel an-sair to moi! Oh! Hi, Lily, hi Albus."
Just like that she changed gears, dispensing mercy as she unhanded James and chatted up her other two cousins.
"Scorpius," Victoire said, sending a little nod his way.
Lily kept one eye on Rose, watching from Gryffindor, pretending not to notice. Victoire and Teddy Lupin were already an item, everyone knew. Victoire had no designs on anyone, besides Teddy. Still, Rose could be provoked if the setting and baiting were right.
Lily had a lot of journal material that spring.
Easter approached and with it, another round-trip on the Hogwarts Express. Harry and Astoria met the scholars on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
"Dad?" Scorpius asked.
"At the gallery, I think," said Astoria. She cast a tempus charm. "Probably."
"This way," said Harry, motioning in the direction of a floo installation. "This time the destination is Nott Hall."
If it wasn't a surprise for everyone, they all did a marvelous job of not letting on. Once they worked their way up to the floo it took only seconds to transport the group.
"Welcome!" said Iere as everyone popped out of the fireplace in the ground floor salon.
"Wow."
"Beautiful."
"Incredible."
"What are you going to do with all of this?"
All of the scholars had seen the new manor during construction but the finished building was still impressive.
"I don't know," answered Iere. "Live in it?"
She looked at James, who smiled and nodded. Lily wanted the full brief and tour, immediately. She already pictured herself the designated tour guide for another landmark Magical Britain manor.
Iere held everyone's attention with cold drinks, coffee and tea in the library. Draco arrived, eventually, letting Iere get on with her tour.
"Plenty of bedrooms, don't be strangers," Iere said as they descended the central staircase. "Now, if Sue is ready, you can call this tea or a light supper, as you wish."
The dining table held every kind of bread, sliced meat, cheese and biscuit known, along with fruit and a selection of beverages. Everyone helped him or herself and the party spread out, most ending up in the breakfast room off the kitchen. Good feelings and conversation ensued, everything cozy in the soft, cupped hands of Iere's empathy.
Throughout break and upon her return to Hogwarts, Lily wrote and wrote.
Decades later she would burn her journals and scatter the ashes. She had her reasons. Scholars poring over the collection of her papers, which she had entrusted to the Hogwarts archivists, would find references to the journals. They would pound tabletops in frustration at not having an original journal in their own hands. Lily had made a considered decision, though. At eleven, twelve, thirteen, on through her twenties, she wrote what was in her heart. Whatever came to her, she wrote down, unedited. Her observations and reactions to whatever was going on around her were written from the perspective of an immature personality, the youngest in her immediate family group. Things happened that were no one's business but the principals, so of course Lily wrote it all down as she saw and interpreted it.
By the time Lily wrote her memoir, she was an accomplished professional. She knew about shaping perceptions. There were perceptions she wanted to shape. People she loved who were no longer around to defend themselves would be completely misunderstood if viewed through the lenses of a child-witch, even if the child did mature into a serious author. She documented her life, filled with insights on the Weasleys, Potters, Greengrass' and Malfoys, using her journals, then she consigned them to oblivion. She left the scholars the Authorized Version, take it or leave it.
"That spring," she would write, "I discovered love. Not for myself. I would be spared that experience for a good, long while. It was by observation, first, of my brother and his beloved, my friend and future sister-in-law, Iere Greengrass, Lady Nott. The second was my father.
Of course, it is well-known that Harry Potter never remarried after the split with my mother, Ginny Weasley. He was in love, though, and helplessly. The reader may not wish to grant me credence in this matter. That is their choice."
Shortly after spring break Harry received three letters from Hogwarts proclaiming the arrival of good weather and suggesting he might want to consider a weekend visit for some quidditch and socializing. James managed to work in the idea that Harry could bring Iere along, were she willing, to watch the match and take a meal with the family. The venue could be the Great Hall or somewhere in Hogsmeade, James was that flexible.
Harry didn't require a lot of convincing, nor did Iere. Harry even consented to sit with Slytherin, although that meant Lily would be missing as the match was Slytherin v. Ravenclaw.
Harry and Iere circulated a bit before game time. Faculty and staff remembered Daphne with great fondness. A few, like Professor McGonagall, knew some bits of background. McGonagall had made it a point to stay close to Daphne. She had consulted informally with Daphne as Iere's unconventional combination of talents manifested.
"Iere!" she said as she extended her hand.
Harry and Iere had been on their way to the pitch when the headmistress overtook them.
"Headmistress," said Iere, turning on the good feelings. "How nice to see you. You must give us a day or a weekend down South!"
Harry smiled his assent.
"Always a pleasure, Headmistress," Harry said, just inclining his head. The Hero of the Wizarding World always treated Professor McGonagall with the greatest deference. Iere could sense the mutual respect.
"Gryffindor's prospects?" asked Iere.
"Out of the race," said Professor McGonagall. "Mathematical impossibility. I can't bet, of course, but if I were to dabble, the money would be on Slytherin."
Harry was very pleased to hear that. He had followed the quidditch columns in the Daily Prophet and held the same opinion. Much as he loved crimson and gold, his quidditch days were behind him and the Potter torch had been passed to a pair of Slytherins.
"And that is the item that is the talk of the school?" asked the headmistress. She was ogling the ruby ring, of course, the one James had given Iere at Christmas.
"Oh, you haven't seen it!" said Iere. "Yes, Headmistress, James consulted with his father and this is what they came up with. Aren't they brilliant?"
"Dad took us to Madame Puddifoot's!" Lily wrote, later on in the evening. She was exhausted but she forced herself to stay awake and update the journal, just a bit.
"I don't know what got into him. We all agreed to have dinner together after the match. Somehow, we ended up at Madame's. The Potters were celebratory (Slytherin 290-60 Ravenclaw) except for me. I hadn't expected much from the Blues. Slytherin has been getting better every match. James has been placing the bludgers so accurately. It's like watching the pro tennis players. (It just occurred to me—I wonder if he would be good at tennis, with a little coaching and practice?) Anyway, Ravenclaw had bludgers coming at them all match, especially when the chasers had the quaffle. They had us down 140-60 and their seeker caught the snitch. Bitch. Unworthy of me, I know, so there."
"Madame Puddifoot's. What's to say? Sweethearts. James and Iere were smiling and laughing. Iere laid her left hand on James' about a billion times, I'm sure so we'd all have a chance to see how nice James' ring looked on her hand and how nice the hand looked on top of James.' They did everything but cut up one another's food."
"James and Iere stayed for one last cup of tea when Dad, Scorpius, Albus and I left. I know James. He's signed out. They went to Nott Hall to spend the night. Oh—one other thing, then it's lights-out. James announced at dinner that he accepted an invitation to try out for Puddlemere United. I've seen United play and unless I'm really stupid and don't understand quidditch at all, James is in."
"All for today, I'm beat."
The big fireplace in the ground-floor salon at Potter Manor produced a sound like a foghorn when a floo call was coming in. One came in that Sunday about eleven a.m. Harry Potter was sitting in his favorite wing chair, his feet on an ottoman and an open volume of the Black grimoire on his lap when he was nearly lifted out of both the chair and a very enjoyable light snooze.
"Merlin!" Harry said.
"Dad?"
"It's Harry," he said. "James?"
"Yes, can we come through?"
"I suppose," said Harry, assuming 'we' meant James and Iere.
The sound of people taking the floo could not compare to the sound that announced a floo call.
"This thing…," Harry said. "Where's the volume control?"
"That knob," said James.
"Where?" asked Harry as he scanned the brick façade.
"The one at the end of your wand," James advised. He drew his own wand.
"Pianissimo," he muttered as he bobbled the wand tip.
"That's it? It's kind of obvious," said Harry.
"Could be," said James. "It's worth a try. You can let me know."
"Moving right along," said Harry. "Welcome. Come in, sit down, something to eat or drink?"
"Ahh…"
"Or lunch," Harry said. "It's nearly noon, imagine—NO! Don't touch that!"
Iere had reached for the Black grimoire. Harry's emphatic, corrective warning didn't suit Iere's emotional state, causing Harry and James to become instantly depressed.
"I'm sorry, Iere, I'm so, so sorry," Harry began.
"It's okay, really, you didn't do anything," James added. He considered adding a hug but wasn't sure. He decided to wait. It would become obvious when Iere wanted one.
"It's the Black grimoire," Harry said. "Someday soon…Anyway, we'll get you the right way with the…ah…protective measures."
"As soon as we're married," James went on. "Feeling better?"
Iere was feeling much better. James and Harry were genuinely concerned for her well-being. You can't fake that, not with an empath. They were just trying to protect her. Harry was mortified, really, probably stressed that his own action, dropping the grimoire on the chair, had put Iere in danger. Grimoire protective measures sorted, Harry led the way to the kitchen to see what could be secured for lunch.
"Wash up?" Harry asked.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Can I use Lady Potter's?" Iere asked.
"Sure," said Harry. "Take all the time you need."
Harry didn't know how witting James was, regarding the obsidian Daphne.
'Probably needs to show her the ring,' he thought, keeping it to himself.
Iere returned, all smiles.
"I've decided to play some quidditch," James told Harry over lunch.
"Good," said Harry. "Give it your best. Never scrimp on your mouthguard. Spend whatever you need to spend."
"Oh, of course," James said. He gave Iere a quick glance.
"Iere? What do you think?" asked Harry.
"James needs to do it," she said. "I think we all need to see him. For awhile."
"We have some more plans," James said. Harry perked up. He was surprised. He couldn't recall having any plan, other than survival, when he was James' age. More than one plan would have required an assist from Hermione Granger.
"I want to go to a muggle university," said James. "I'm trying to talk Iere into going as well."
Lily was back at Hogwarts so she didn't attend that lunch. It was a pivot point in several lives, though, including Lily's. She heard three versions of what went on, teasing them out over a period of decades. She synthesized them when she wrote her monumental book on her life and family.
"These two remarkable people, my brother and his gifted wife, went on to the Royal Agricultural University, James studying land management and Iere business," says Lily's memoir.
"From my perspective today they seem destined for success in multiple fields. I don't know what I thought back then, on the threshold of twelve whole years of age."
"I learned later that James and Iere had laid out plans over that lunch, not just for some additional education in fields that interested them and had significant crossover with magical business and agriculture, but their ideas on organizing their financial and business affairs. James was seventeen, Iere just about to turn nineteen. They had talked through everything."
"Iere had a plan to expand WHOOSH a bit more then put it on the market. She wanted to become more involved in the management of her Nott holdings. James saw quidditch as fun, but beyond that, a platform to begin establishing a public persona. James scrupulously avoided active politics, although many politicians sought him out for consultations."
"James' real interests, besides Iere and our extended family, were what he called 'The Farms,' Nott Hall and Potter Manor, conservation and wildlife. James made a conscious effort to establish and build credibility as an advocate for preserving our soil, keeping our waters clean and respecting the rights of our animal neighbors."
"Gosh, James," Harry said as he built a sandwich. "You're both thinking the same on all of this?"
"Sure," said James. "Would the other stuff work if we were going different directions?"
"Other stuff?" asked Harry.
"Well, yeah," said James. "Love. Marriage. Partnership. Children. Work."
"Don't you think you're asking the wrong man about that?" asked a very rueful-sounding Harry.
It wasn't funny, exactly, but it struck James as such and he let out a robust laugh. Iere was close to mortification.
"James…" she said. "Maybe it wasn't that funny."
Iere's comment got to Harry and he contributed his own laughter.
"It's okay," Harry explained. "We went through that rough patch, with James' mother, together. It all worked out. James has the right idea. You share it, I think. You're both very lucky to have found one another. All of that compatibility is rare. Believe me."
Lily didn't have the background analyzed as completely as she did all those years later. Still, she was a careful observer and James had her complete attention when he returned from his weekend excursion.
"James is never without a textbook close by," Lily wrote in her Hogwarts journal.
"He's becoming a grind. He's friendly enough. Smiles. Just doesn't cut up, at all, ever. Helps Albus a lot. I think Albus may be feeling a bit put-upon. I get the sense that James is in his last term, that it just occurred to him, and he wants to put us all on the right track for when he's no longer here."
"Of course, NEWTS are looming. James isn't the only one going overboard. Thank Merlin for Victoire. She never frets and sees the humor, if there is any."
Lily's journals became her passion. The original was enchanted. She could fill it up and blank pages would appear. Astoria was delighted when Lily informed her that she was about to fill up the first volume and would need to shop for another.
"Oh, maybe it's time I show you a little something," Astoria said, smiling.
A simple charm produced a fresh, pristine journal. Astoria explained the phenomenon—when all the pages were filled the journal's enchantment archived the completed pages and gave the writer more space. A retrieving charm brought the previous journals back when needed. Otherwise they were in some place the writer didn't need to worry about, waiting. It saved a tremendous amount of bookshelf space.
"I LOVE it!" said Lily. She practiced the charm over and over, both ways.
"You've got it," said Astoria. "You can write for as long as you live and you shouldn't ever have to buy another journal."
Meanwhile, Lily went on growing and adding interests. Her face stretched and lost the chubbiness she'd had since babyhood. Her chin and jaw were a bit narrower than the upper part of her face, calling attention to her perfect cheekbones. She had Ginny's brown eyes and her hair was a chestnut shade in between Harry's near-black and Ginny's red. A photographer saw her having lunch with Ginny at Harrod's.
"Check me out," he said to Ginny, leaving his card.
Ginny did. She gave the card to Harry. Harry also had the guy checked out. Lily had just turned fifteen.
There is a long, acknowledged connection between magic and the theater. The actors, makeup, lighting, the proscenium and the playwright's words are stewed and stirred together and become a potion. The witch Lily Potter did not find it hard at all to transition from ingenue model to actress. She played Muffet in Uncommon Women and Others at sixteen.
"There Is a New Star in The Firmament!" shouted one review headline. Lily took it in stride. Ginny was a bit more boisterous. Ginny always had a stronger affinity for publicity.
Lily met a dozen or more actors with magical abilities. Like many younger actors, Lily finished her education with a tutor. Harry found her tutor through Professor McGonagall. She was used to working with young witches and wizards and had no trouble staying in the dressing room and keeping Lily's secrets.
Lily set a goal. She wanted to become a writer. She kept up with her journals. After twenty years, at age thirty-six, she mounted a one-woman show, gave twenty performances in twenty cities around the world, did a one-hour live television version, and retired from acting.
Lily could be contacted through her publisher. Biographical notes gave only the sketchiest description of her whereabouts. When asked directly where she was living, she would respond, "Ms. Potter makes her home on the family farm."
Technically, she told the truth. Lily divided her time between Potter Manor, Nott Hall and Owl Cottage. She wasn't some sort of recluse. On the contrary, she saw the people she wanted to see. These were largely family and old school friends.
James and Iere married and spent the bulk of their time at Nott Hall. They produced a niece or a nephew for Lily at roughly two-year intervals, until they reached four, then they '…started taking measures…' as Iere described it. James had Harry's knack for spotting business opportunities. Iere was his principal partner but he had two close friends, one from university and the other a business-minded Puddlemere teammate, and the three of them started some viable enterprises.
Iere built the WHOOSH brand to the point it became a commodity of its own. She sold WHOOSH before it took over her life, keeping a minority share and a seat on the board. Her real interest was Nott Hall and the children.
Teddy Lupin married Victoire Weasley in the garden of Andromeda Tonks' country home. Victoire asked Lily to be her maid of honor. Lily begged off, as she had work commitments. She did contrive a little subterfuge on the set, disappearing into her trailer with a headache and emerging an hour later, managing fourteen minutes for Teddy and Victoire's ceremony and an additional forty-six for the reception, which she attended in her makeup.
"I don't know why, but Victoire and her sister, Dominique, became my closest companions and confidantes," Lily wrote. It was the truth. Lily wrote it all in her memoirs just the way she experienced it. "I have tons of cousins. They are all a blessing, individually and collectively. Something about Victoire and Dominique just set them apart. This isn't the place to get analytical. We simply clicked, always, like we were planned in advance."
"It happens. I know because I've confided in friends and a good number have told me they know exactly what I'm talking about. A sibling, cousin, sometimes a significant other, somehow, through some mix of affinity and chance, it happens. If you've been lucky enough to have the experience, blessings upon you and yours. If you haven't, keep your heart open and give Fortune a chance."
Iere put together a significant body of work during her lifetime. She averaged two movies a year for twenty years, made numerous television appearances and loved returning to the stage when she wasn't under contract elsewhere. Her favorite role was Muffet, her breakout. She couldn't play Muffet forever, but 'the cute one' as she always called her had Lily's heart.
Writing fantasy, or magical realism, was a natural career progression. Lily wrote for a specific young woman. Someplace between ten and eighteen, this person was different, poorly-understood, disliked by people who should have treated her better, occasionally exploited for various purposes and special. The specialness took many different forms, some commonplace, some exotic. Lily didn't write for a magical audience. On the contrary, she was extremely careful to keep real magic out of her books. She wanted universal stories. Most of what she wrote achieved universality.
Everyone needs to believe he or she is special, Lily liked to say.
"I'm no different from any of you," the old woman said.
She was addressing young ladies at the graduation ceremony for Miss Annabelle's School for Young Witches, in London. She was past eighty and becoming frail. Getting her as graduation speaker was a great coup for Miss Annabelle's. Lily sat in an arm chair, a table with a glass of water beside her.
"Opportunities presented themselves to me over the years. Opportunities will present themselves to you. They won't be the same for you because you have your own paths. They will be wonderful. If I have any advice to pass on, any lessons from a lifetime of interesting and creative work, it is this: Beginning today, young witches, think of everything you are asked to do in school as a piece of your lifetime body of work. When you graduate and go out into the world, think of your tasks, whether casting a spell, telling your child a story, playing a role on stage—all of it—as a brick in that structure you are making, that lifetime body of work, the one you want to be proud of at the end. Then, when you get to be my age, you can look at it and say, 'I did that.'"
The oldest witch among the new graduates at Miss Annabelle's was eleven. They didn't grasp all of what Lily was saying but their mothers and fathers did. Some had tears when she wrapped up her address. All of them stood to applaud.
"I've left my father and his love story, and his end, to the last, for several reasons," Lily wrote.
She actually held off publishing her memoir for several years after it was substantially complete. She was committed to telling the truth. Truth can be invasive or hurtful even if it is the truth, and she would rather die alone and unmourned than hurt some of the people in her book.
"Harry Potter was an ordinary man who did extraordinary things, for which he was justly famous," she wrote. "He always gave credit to the smart, skilled and very, very brave witches and wizards around him at the time he fought and defeated the Dark Lord. When that was over, he wanted nothing more than to spend time with his family and quietly wrestle his post-war demons into submission."
"His first try at family life was upended. My mother is gone now, but she and I talked about that period, eventually. I know she had her reasons. I have my perspective, which I choose to keep to myself."
"Harry Potter had one more unique experience ahead of him. Rumors of perverse practices, familiar spirits and I don't know what-all accumulated over the decades. I can tell you those were complete nonsense."
"My father and Daphne Greengrass had fallen in love when she was cruelly snatched away from us. My sister-in-law and lifetime friend, Iere Greengrass Potter, was a child of a witch and a wizard who could not work magic. She was completely misunderstood, an empath of such power and accomplishment that she could feel the emotional state of those around her, she could control the emotions of others. She held the power of life and death, using only what lay between her two ears."
"I will not go into the circumstances of Daphne's death. I acknowledge that Iere kept a copy of her mother at her home for several years. I visited my friend and we would talk to Daphne. We heard answers. I'm afraid I can't explain further. When Iere and James married, Iere offered Daphne to my father, who was delighted to host her at Potter Manor for the rest of his life."
"Harry Potter was a businessman with solid partners. They weren't hard men but they liked to show a profit. They were practical, wizards, yes, but with their feet on the ground. None of them dabbled in Dark Arts. Harry Potter was successful. He, Neville Longbottom and Blaise Zabini made some money, as the saying goes. When he got ready to disengage from business, Harry brought James in and James made them all some more. These people were not given to communing with familiar spirits to make an extra galleon or two."
"I have told everyone I would write this part of our story once and that would be that. I've done it here, honestly. For my son, Raul, and all my nieces and nephews, this is your story. You will write the next chapter. Do your best. Take pride in your work as we are all so proud of you. All of us, including Harry, know your struggles and feel your body and soul strain as you sweat to master this world. I give you the baton."
AFTERWORD
The old man rattled around the manor. Most days he had a visitor or two. Children and grandchildren came by as did friends, some going back to his school days. Those were down to a precious few. Columnists in The Daily Prophet had begun writing about what everyone would do when the last of the generation was gone. The first one of those columns had appeared fifteen or twenty years past.
Harry Potter wore a bathrobe over pajamas. The work day was done. He liked to keep the house, his family's country seat, in perfect repair. He happily supported a full indoor and outdoor crew of elves to meet his own expectations. Hang the expense. These last few months, Harry had been showering and getting into his pajamas earlier and earlier. He lay on top of the duvet in Lady Potter's bedroom and read the Prophet aloud. Then he went to sleep, often waking up in the morning, the sun in his eyes, in his pajamas and bathrobe, still on top of the duvet.
Harry finished reading, laid the paper aside and closed his eyes.
"Harry?" he heard.
"Right here," said Harry.
"Good. You're awake."
It was a declaration, not a question.
"I am. Need anything?" Harry asked.
"Did you write up the codicil?" asked Daphne. "The way we discussed?"
"Yes. James has a copy and so does Albus. I talked it over with them. Purely speculative: When the time comes I want you guys…blah, blah, blah. They said they'd do it."
"Oh, good. I'm so tired. I'm glad I got to spend all this time with you. I love you. I'm just so tired," Harry heard.
"I know. Those pains I had. They were pretty intense."
"Are you ready?" Daphne asked.
"It's funny," Harry said. "I fought like mad dog to live, back in the day. I wonder what the motivation was? I'm ready."
"Know what to do?" asked Daphne.
"Yes," Harry said, drawing his holly wand. "Do I say, 'See you on the other side?' Are you on the other side?"
"One way to find out," said Daphne. "I do love you."
"I love you," said Harry as he threw his undiminished magic into his final spell. "DEPULSO!"
James and Albus looked in the casket. The traveling cloak with all the obsidian shards was pulled together and tied with several wraps of velvet cord. It was tucked against the side of the casket, between Harry's right knee and his foot. James closed the cover over the lower half of Harry's body. That was between Harry and Daphne. He looked at Harry's hands, gnarled but not withered, folded on his chest, the holly wand between his thumbs and forefingers. James missed Iere. She would have wanted to be here. Earlier in the day, James thought he might feel Iere's presence, but he didn't. That was probably for the best.
"It's done," said Albus. "Could he really talk to her?"
"Iere and Lily both swore…" James said before his vocal cords stopped responding.
"Okay?" asked Albus. He took his brother's hand, then nodded to the undertaker.
"People are waiting, JEE-mee," said Albus. He could mimic the young Victoire and get a laugh out of James whenever he chose.
"Dammit, Albus," said James as he began to snicker. He stepped behind Albus' wheelchair and grasped the handles. "If I laugh all through this…"
The undertaker's men carried Harry Potter's earthly remains to the catafalque below the altar of St. Jerome's Church in Godric's Hollow. The priest let James and Albus get settled, then turned to the ancient prayer book and began to read:
"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away…"