Chapter 9
"Mom?" Harry whispered. He blinked again. There was no way that could be Lily Potter standing before him, even though Harry knew her from the hours he had spent in his room and his dorm at Hogwarts, staring at pictures of her…her and Harry's dad, James Potter. For Harry, there was no mistaking Lily Potter for someone else.
Still, Harry was in disbelief. He thought she was dead; didn't Voldemort kill her twelve years ago?
And yet, the more Harry thought about the possibility of his mother being alive, the more it made sense to him. He had heard many times that he was an orphan, but there were little details in his life that could not be explained away. For one, in his first year when he was thwarting Voldemort from getting the Philosopher's Stone, the Dark Lord claimed to have killed his father first, and that his mother didn't need to die. Harry always wondered why that was, but he never bothered to look deeply into his darkest enemy's words.
Even more disturbing, Lily's memory never came out of the wand last spring. James came out, and he talked Harry through the entire confrontation. His mother, who was supposed to come out before James did according to the laws of Priori Incantum, never came out.
But the thought that his mother just might be alive never crossed Harry's mind.
"Harry? Are you all right?" Hermione asked tentatively.
Harry shook the sensation out of his head, but he didn't answer Hermione just then. He was too full of emotions to speak.
"Did you know about this?" Ron asked Hermione. She responded by shaking her head.
Harry brushed off his friends as he stared at his mother. In the flesh. Alive.
"You…did want to meet on Hallowe'en, didn't you?" Hermione asked Ms Potter carefully.
"Hallowe'en…you know, Hallowe'en is my favorite holiday…." Tears filled in Lily's eyes as she stared at Harry, open-mouthed. Harry noticed that during the exchange she had dropped the spoon she was using to feed Jessica.
Harry looked over to the baby. Jessica, who was sitting in a high chair, had become very still and quiet. It was almost as though she knew that something very unreal – something magical, to say the least – was happening, and she did not want to ruin the moment with her childish screams.
Ms Potter went over to Harry, slowly, at first. Then she ran to him and embraced him in her arms, effusive with emotion.
"My son! My son…" she broke as she held Harry in her arms.
Harry was still too numb to speak. He let his mother, who smelled so much like mothers should, hold him in her delicate arms. He noticed her eyes looked just like his, that she looked just like her sister, Petunia, only so much more delicate and sheik. He found that he loved her, even though he couldn't explain why, but he loved her, the way a son was meant to love his mother. He only hoped she loved him back.
When they broke, Harry let out a great breath, and with his breath came the tears. Hermione knew they would come eventually, and she was relieved when they did. Ron looked away; he did not wish to embarrass Harry so when Harry did not understand what he was feeling.
"Sit down, Harry, do sit down. I have so much to tell you, like I said in my letter to your friend Hermione." Ms Potter looked up and seemed to notice Harry's friends for the first time. "Do have a seat," she told them. "I'll make some tea while we talk."
Ms Potter started making herself busy behind the kitchen counter while Harry, Ron and Hermione sat down at a small but cozy table. Harry looked over at Jessica, who looked about two years old.
"I have a sister…" Harry said aloud. "I have a sister."
"Well, a half-sister," Ms Potter said from the stove. "Her name is Jessica and she's almost three now. It was quite a mistake, trying to marry after your father died. Especially a Muggle who didn't understand anything. And what with the longevity of witches to Muggles and it being obvious that Jessica was a witch like me…I couldn't tell him who I was or what his daughter was. So I left him.
"Jessica is very lovable though," Ms Potter chattered on. "I'm sure she'll be so happy to have a big brother."
A big brother…the words sounded hollow in Harry's ears. He choose to ignore the words as an uncomfortable silence escaped through the kitchen.
"Harry, I – "
"Why did you send me to live with the Dursleys?" Harry interrupted. Tears welled up in his eyes when Harry asked his question. He looked at his mother, who looked away. Harry looked away too, and he wiped his eyes as he heard his mother answer.
"Oh, Harry, I wanted to be with you, so much," Ms Potter said. She sounded sincere, so sincere that Harry couldn't do anything but believe her. "But our lives were in danger. If Voldemort were to find us together while vulnerable, we would have been killed. So I choose to fake my death and start a new life, posing as a Muggle. I originally planned to take you with me, so that we could live our lives together, no matter how scary things got. However, I knew that the Hogwarts quill would still hunt you down and find me with you. So I fled that night, leaving you in our house's rubble. I trusted that Sirius would take you in as his guardian…but then he became a prisoner of Azkaban. I never would have thought Dumbledore would have sent you to live with my wretched sister, but, the more I think about it, the safer you are there, with Ms Figg right next door to watch you all this time. Being in exile with me would have only brought you danger, more danger than you are in right now.
"Of course, I was watching you all this time, even in your darkest days. That's how I kept an eye on the wizarding community, was through your eyes."
"Through my eyes?" Harry repeated dully. He was listening to Ms Potter's words with a half-ear, because he still couldn't see how it was that Lily Potter could survive the Avada Kedavra Curse, or how anyone could for that matter.
"Yes, through your eyes, dear. You see, we have very special eyes. They're magically connected in a way that if you concentrate hard enough, you can see what I am seeing and thinking. I can do it too, only vice versa. So I was with you all this time. I would especially watch you whenever Voldemort was near, because, you see, I happen to have a lightning scar too, from where Voldemort left his mark, but mine is over my heart. Sometimes when Voldemort is near or feeling murderous, I can feel my entire chest burn with his terrible anger, and I feel bitter on those days. There are times when I suspected Voldemort might have been watching his closest enemies, but, I knew he thought I was dead when you were under that chamber with him, in your first year at Hogwarts.
"I actually watched you quite a bit, Harry. And after a fashion I started to write it all down, in my diary. Soon it evolved into a daily routine, in which I'd record what you did that day. To this day, I cannot explain why I started. It just felt so right at the time. In some ways it made me feel like I was fulfilling the duties of a mother, even though I couldn't be there. For ten years I wrote down all your memories at the Muggle school you attended with Dudley. I kept going after you started Hogwarts, and to this day I still record every little thing."
"Well, what is this about that book you are writing?" Hermione asked.
"You mean that Muggle book I'm writing?" Ms Potter repeated. "Well, actually, I am feeling that it is time I started telling the wizard community that I am alive and well. But, I couldn't quite go right out to the wizarding community and say it, because Voldemort is on the loose. So I had to find another way, a way to tell them that I am alive, but under the Dark Lord's nose too.
"I had to broadcast to the mass that I was alive. But, I had to do it in a way so that only a few people would understand what I was doing. So I decided to publish a Muggle book – nothing too big, mind you – just enough so that if a wizard happened to pick it up, they would notice there is something wrong with the facts in certain aspects of the wizarding community. And then, if they were suspicious enough, they would actually look up who J.K. Rowling is, and they'd see Lily Potter's picture."
"Ooh, clever!" Hermione applauded. "So this book you're writing has nothing to do with telling Muggles who we wizards are, but instead it has to do with telling the wizards who you are."
"Now, wait a minute. How'd you run that past the Ministry?" Ron asked.
Ms Potter smiled. "I have connections," she answered. "You see, Harry's father, James, was an Unspeakable at the Ministry, and not too many of those come along. It's a very dangerous job. But, working at the Department of Mysteries has a lot of prestige in it – even the Minister for Magic ranks below them. So of course when I wrote a letter to Cornelius explaining my situation, he couldn't say much against it. He just said that so long as someone in the Department of Mysteries proofed it before I sent it to Bloomsbury, it was fine. So I did just that. There is nothing in that book that will get the Muggles even wishing they could be like us. But, like I said, they won't care anyway. They prefer books about humdrum people like themselves."
"Oh, really?" Hermione glowered. "I happen to be Muggle-born."
"I am Muggle-born, too," Ms Potter answered. She smiled. "You can read it for yourself, if you'd really care to see if there's anything in it."
"Thank you, I think I will," Hermione answered. "Do you have a copy of your manuscript?"
"Oh, they've already made ten or so prints. I'll give you each one copy before you leave."
Harry felt a twinge of nerves. Before he left…? Was that how his mother saw him? He almost felt resentful of what she was saying. At the same time, he was wildly curious about her. How did she survive? What has she been doing all these years? But most of all, one great question lay in Harry's mind:
What will happen to me?
A/n: Nooooooooooo! I can't believe that happened to me: I was all prepared to upload this story for you, my poor readers, and ffn decides to crash. I'm really very sorry about that. School started today, can you believe that? I'll try to keep us up to date on this story, but be warned, my life suddenly became very busy. AP English 12 and Honors Geo/Trig, and editor-in-chief for the newspaper and all this other stuff…anyway. If anyone else is out there feeling the workload piling on, you can definitely email me, I'll gladly lend an ear.
Thank you for not flaming me! Of course, if you're still pissed about something, you can tell me. ~Jerry
