Chapter 22

(A/N): Ah. Did you miss me? A few points to clarify (again):

To Nikoda Lynn Snape and to all you other people thinking the same: J.K. Rowling originally said in an interview that James's quidditch position was Chaser, while the movie somehow made it so that he was Seeker. I decided to follow J.K. Rowling's original statement, rather than to follow the movie, as all my information is based on books and interviews anyway.

To Autumngurl102: I have to agree with you - St. Valentine's crusade was never pointless. And yes, I have read the story, countless times. My opinions, however, make no difference as to what Lily's are. And no, I am not one of those writers who make their main character a perfected image of themselves, following all the likes, dislikes and ideas as themselves- no offense to those of you who do. I just needed that to prove a point in the story as to her mood and to her character, as I never saw her to be one to follow the crowd. So, anyway, my point is, I never meant to offend anyone by that, it was just to exaggerate the foul mood she's in- when people are in depressed, dark moods (particularly a friend of mine… we'll call her… Hammie's Sister), they tend to think things they normally don't.

Anyway, I hope that answered your questions. This will be a relatively short chapter.

*~*~*~*~*

As he reached the last few steps of the Potter Mansion, something occurred to James Potter- he didn't want to go in, nor was anyone forcing him to. He could turn back now, take a ride back to the Kings Cross Train Station, and never look back. They need never know of his arrival- he could just say he missed his train.

Yes, he realized this thought was cowardly, almost immediately ashamed for having thought it- for there was something forcing him. His conscience- he knew himself that if he turned away from that door now, he may very well never see his mother alive again. It was this thought that kept him from turning away and running as far and as quickly as he could in the opposite direction.

And yet, he still did not approach the doorknocker.

Rather, he sat down at the top step, which provided little protection from the rain, watching the snow melt away slowly as the tiny droplets of water pelted down from above. Sighing and watching his breath evaporate before him, he rubbed his hands together for warmth, as the rain fell at his feet, making small splashes with each drop in the collecting water.

A few small sparrows flitted from tree to tree nearby, looking for shelter against the steady rain, a seemingly futile task for them, as they sang a mournful melody as they went. Raising the collar of his coat to shield against the increasing cold, he stretched a shaky hand out into the unsheltered air, willing the raindrops to fall upon it, to wash away the gloom it seemed to be covered with. Realizing that the porch roof was proving woefully inadequate as he was completely drenched anyway, he stood and walked down a few steps, his right hand still outstretched as he tilted his face up towards the sky.

The sky seemed endless, the small droplets of water pelting his face coming from that land of no limitation, something he imagined must be very freeing, with no ceiling confining and suffocating a person, smothering him with rules and restrictions. Yes, he thought, to be a droplet of rain must be very enjoyable.

Lowering his eyes to view his surroundings, he became very aware of the fact his momentary reverie may have cost him much needed time- and Time was one of the few things his father, with all his gold and money, couldn't buy.

Shaking his head in self-disgust, James turned around and approached the doorknocker, this time waiting for the resounding click admitting him entrance.

*~*~*~*~*

"So, are you visiting the area, then?"

Lily turned her head, taking in the view, setting down her bags. The air was damp and salty- as it normally would be, nearby the sea. The grass was tall and green, rippling as the wind drifted past, teasing at her hair, which she had clipped into a low ponytail earlier. The sky seemed low, an indefinite gray to match the color of the sea, rippling and waving below the hill. A little beyond a grassy knoll, there was a small cemetery. A bit off to the side of that was a small church, where, she was told, her father had grown up attending every Sunday, and, later, was married in.

It all seemed so unfamiliar to her, but this was what her father had once called home. Reaching in the pocket of her purse, she smiled and murmured softly, "Might as well be," as she paid the taxi fare.

"Well, enjoy it- Ireland sure is pretty this time of year," he answered, tipping his hat. Laughing as he stepped into his car, the driver said, "It is every time of the year."

Turning in the direction of the graveyard again, she looked beyond, where a large, white tent had been set up, figures clad in black milling under it already, to avoid the anticipated morning drizzle.

Gripping her bags, she took a step forward, her heart lurching.

*~*~*~*~*

"I, erm, brought something… for you." James nervously scratched the back of his neck, which was in the odd habit of itching whenever he was experiencing an awkward moment. "Lavenders. They're your favorite, I believe?"

His mother smiled up at him, graciously taking the small bundle of purple flowers from him, inhaling the scent. "Lovely, James. They're such a scarcity around here these days, what with everyone sending me roses and orchids. Each beautiful in their own way, but you know my preference for lavenders." Taking one out of the bunch and handing the rest to her son, she said, "Be a dear and put these in the vase by my bedside, would you, James? There's already freshwater in it."

James bit the inside of his cheek and tactfully didn't say aloud that the vase was on a table right next the bed she was lying in. "Of course, mother. Anything else I can do for you?" he frowned in concern. "Fetch you a glass of water? Get the house-elves to stoke the fire? Open the window?"

Mrs. Potter waved her hand dismissively. "No, no, you aren't a dog, James, I have no need for you to fetch and carry my things like a good little puppy. Though, would you be a dear and draw the curtains?"

"Yes, of course, mother."

"Thank you," she sighed, leaning against her pillow and shutting her eyes wearily. "Your father was the one that ordered them closed," she murmured. "Yet somehow I don't think I can bear to stay in a room where the sunlight is barred from view."

"It's raining," James stated, walking back to his mother's side. "And it's cold. Perhaps it would be better for me to-"

"It's fine, James," his mother's voice took an edgy tone. Her breathing shallow again, she said softly, "I am not a child. I am your mother. It is not your job to shield me from the harsh realities of life." Her soft laugh trilling through the air, she murmured, "Or death, either, for that matter."

He reached over for her hand, kneeling on the spread carpet beside her bed. "You aren't going to die," he said insistently. "You're perfectly fine, mother."

Nina Potter's blue eyes clouded as she reached up to affectionately touch her son's cheek. "Ah, well, we all die eventually, James. It's nothing to be afraid of, you know."

James drew back from his mother, letting her hand fall limp to her side. This wasn't like her at all, and he hated to see her like this. Her pale blonde hair was limp, in a loose braid, with the slight shine of something that had once held a brilliant luster, which had long since been dulled. In her eyes, as well, it showed that any shining light, any flickering flame of hope she had held onto, had died, her eyes wide open and glassy, dark rims around the bottom. Her skin lost its usual flush, replacing it a pallid, pale, color. As she lay in her bedroom, layers of blankets wrapped around her, she still shivered, whether from cold or, simply, fear, he did not know.

"James, my dear son, if not now, you may have to face the inevitable later," his mother murmured. "Nobody lives forever, hmm?"

And it was then he realized what it was that had changed his mother- the denial was gone, vanished without a trace in the air- what was suffocating him now was her plain acceptance of her fate.

*~*~*~*~*

As her sister finished reading the eulogy, Lily looked up towards the sky. No drops of rain had begun to fall yet, but she could almost feel the moistness in the air. She hadn't been able to focus on the eulogy- she found that opening old wounds had never been her strong point. By the time she tried to feel something- like child picking a scab to see if it still hurt- the wound would have been closed up, the sting vanishing while she wasn't looking.

Realizing her sister- and everyone else- was looking at her expectantly, she glanced down at the program. Oh. She was supposed to sing. Petunia stared at her, as if waiting for her to stand. Slowly, she rose from her seat and striding to the podium, acknowledging the bitter, tearful, smiles of encouragement from the crowd.

"And now, my sister, Lily Evans, will lead us in singing 'Amazing Grace'," Petunia said, turning and clapping, as the others- like dumb cows in a pasture being led by their master- followed in suit. Giving her sister a small squeeze with her hand, she turned on her heel and took a seat in the front, her face becoming blank and emotionless.

As she lifted her head to the crowd, Lily noticed that most of the crowd- filled with both familiar and unfamiliar faces- was wearing the same blank expression as her sister, like porcelain dolls with painted faces. They all stared back at her, waiting, waiting for what, she somehow couldn't remember.

Her. Something registered in the back of her mind; they were all waiting for her. Yet somehow, as she opened her mouth to sing the now familiar old hymn, nothing came out. A deadpanned silence followed for a few brief moments, until she, at last, though struggling, managed to sing out the first few lines of the song.

*~*~*~*~*

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me…

I once was lost, but now am found,

Was blind, but now, I see…"

James watched his mother whisper the lyrics of the familiar hymn softly, her eyes still closed, the sound faint and soft, her voice wavering. He felt heartbreakingly close to losing her somehow, as he accepted it, and he felt utterly helpless, as he gripped her hand with his own- more for his own strength than for hers.

Nina Potter's eyelids fluttered open once more, relieving her son's sudden fears that she had left him. "Now, James, don't look so fearful, now, hmm?" Leaning against the pillows again, she turned her face to admire the lavenders at her bedside. "Death isn't such a scary thing, is it? Besides, you're my son. My strong, fearless, son. A true Gryffindor at the heart."

Gryffindor? The idea struck him as strange- it was the house of the brave, but he certainly didn't feel that way. Dumbledore had once told him in second year that one could always tell the cowardly from the brave when watching which way they ran in the face of danger. In his own opinion, to run forward and head on wasn't necessarily brave- it might just be plain stupid. But his mother clearly didn't think so.

"My son," she said fondly, reaching up to touch his cheek again. "Strong, brave, intelligent- I'm proud of you, James. I truly am."

"How can you be so-" he choked on his words before gathering his senses again to continue, "How can you be so calm about this when you know it's killing everyone else?"

"My dear James, is that what you think I am?" she whispered. Looking away, she turned in the direction of the rain pattering against the windowsill. "Calm? Far from that. This is not calm, James, this is acceptance. I do not think about it, for one wastes away ones life thinking of death, would you not agree? Now- come, talk to me of happier subjects. How is school?"

It was useless, he found, to use the direct approach with his mother when she clearly wanted to avoid and skirt around the topic- something highly uncharacteristic of her. "Fine," he swallowed, setting his jaw. "School is fine."

"Fine?" she breathed. "Please… try a little more detail, my dear."

"It's not much different from the usual," he answered. "Sirius is being himself, as you know. Remus hasn't been feeling well, and Peter's fine- he's trying his hand at muggle mathematics."

"Oh?" she inquired. "And how is he doing?"

"Well," her son answered stiffly. James swallowed again, willing his throat to open up, to stop constricting the air that passed through to his lungs. "And the professors are doing the same, as well, with the overload of assignments once more. Nothing… out of the ordinary."

"And that…" his mother stopped to catch her breath. "That Lily girl. Is she the same as when we met her?"

Lily. "Lily Evans? She's… she's been through a lot since then. Her parents- they were killed… by Voldemort. She's been a little detached ever since." James found his mouth unusually dry. Lily. In recollection of the last words he had exchanged with her, he glanced quickly at the expression on his mother's face, for an immediate reaction. From her face, he read sympathy, from her eyes, he read something more, something else, something he couldn't name. What he had said to her… it had been in a moment of sudden understanding- he had been suddenly struck by how similar their situations were in the midst of reading his mother's letter to him for the hundredth time. In that moment of instant clarity, he had felt the imploring need to say something to her, to let her know he sympathized.

No, beyond that- that he cared.

*~*~*~*~*

"'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

And grace my fears relieved…

How precious did that grace appear,

The hour I first believed…"

As the words left her lips, flowing and familiar to her mouth though strange and foreign to her ears, Lily surveyed the crowd. It seemed their ears were closed as well, hearing but not truly listening, just as she could watch but couldn't see.

Sad though it was, no tears had been shed yet, strangely enough. It seemed everyone wanted to keep strong for- for whose sake? Hers? Her sister's? Her parents'? All three ideas seemed equally ludicrous to her. And yet, all the faces in attendance were still kept carefully blank, like the faces of painted glass dolls, cold and expressionless.

Faintly, in the distance, she could hear the cry of a seagull. How freeing, how liberating, she thought as she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, to be a seagull. The salty taste of the ocean was in the air, she'd noticed, and wondered briefly if the soaring seagull could feel the difference in the air above the ocean. She wondered if it would be lonely, with simply the spray of the ocean and the crashing waves upon the high rocks as company, or if one could learn to appreciate the solitude. Mostly, she'd wanted all through her life to be able to fly that way… To fly so high and at such speed that one's troubles on the humble earth would never be able to take flight as well and catch up. To defy the omnipresent laws of gravity. To be simply free.

Opening her eyes, she looked up towards the sky. Though gray and indefinite still, the cool wind blowing upon her face, the damp air had still not produced the promised morning rain. She felt vaguely disappointed.

*~*~*~*~*

"Through many dangerous toils and snares,

I have already come,

'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far,

And grace will lead me home…"

James, though mildly puzzled at the way his mother was singing the hymn, patted her hand reassuringly and gave her a patient, somewhat inquisitive smile, then looked out at the rain falling steadily outside. Each drop hit the windowpane with a soft sound, then dripping downwards from its position, leaving a watery trail on the pane as it did so.

His mother murmured, "We live in such dark times, James, it makes one wonder… how ever do we find the time to be truly happy?" At his questioning look, she responded, "No need to understand, dear. I know your father and I have spent most of our time trying to teach you how to understand… I suppose that was our mistake. We should have taught you how to truly live, how to enjoy life."

"You raised me fine, mother." James reached up the brush a pale blonde strand of hair from his mother's face.

Nina Potter shook her head. "I'm afraid, James, that we were unable to educate you in how to truly enjoy life. That was always something we'd hope you'd learn on your own- but the strict rules of your childhood never left you, did they? I had always wished you would learn how to appreciate the simple, finer things in life, and hoped that teaching you how to understand these things would help."

"You raised me fine, mother," he repeated softly. "Don't doubt yourself so much."

Nina smiled and laughed lightly. "Hmm. Well, I raised a perfect gentleman, I can tell you that. Your successes have piled upon each other over the years. Tell me, James, did you ever pause and look back, let yourself enjoy your more minor victories before going on for your next conquest? I never wanted you to go through life trying to please your parents- that's no life, living for the approval of someone else."

James sighed, resting his chin on his hand, his fingers lacing with his mother's. "Why are you asking me about my life, mother?"

Surprisingly, Nina let her light laugh trill through the air as she smiled at her son.

*~*~*~*~*

"When we've been there ten thousand years,

Bright shining as the sun…

We've no less days to sing God's praise,

Than when we first begun."

And she was done. Done, her part was done, she no longer had to be in the center of attention. Indeed, as this thought ran through her mind, the seated crowd began to stand, all headed in the direction of the cemetery. She didn't have to look to see where- they were all headed in the direction of the two freshly dug grave plots; a hole, a scar in the ground where her parents would spend the rest of eternity in. Entombed in the Earth, as the Earth gave life, she would also receive it. A fair exchange, Lily thought grimly, as she fixed a small smile upon her face.

"God bless you, dearie," a stout woman dressed in a black dress murmured, shaking her hand with a strong grip. As the woman moved past, blowing her nose on a black silk handkerchief, she wondered what relation she had with her parents. A friend? A distant relative? What did it matter, anyway, now that her parents were dead and the only things she had left of them were a few pictures, letters, and a lifetime of memories? Life had given her a cup that was full and brimming, and had, while she wasn't looking, replaced it with one half empty- filled with cynicism, heartbreak, and bitterness.

"Thank you," she said to the next passing person, shaking their hand. "Thank you for coming."

As she waited through the wishes of goodwill towards the rest of her family, the handshakes, she began to wonder if she was the only one who was feeling as if something precious and valuable had been taken away from her- something irreplaceable had been lost, and a bit of her happiness had been permanently chipped away.

As the crowd dispersed, her sister appeared at her side, dressed, traditionally, in the black dress, her blonde hair hidden in an upsweep under a black hat. "Well," she said crisply, "That was interesting."

Dazedly, she replied, "What?"

"For a moment there, I thought you had left your voice back in England," Petunia said humorlessly. Hesitantly, her sister reached into her black handbag and took out a rose. Black, of course. "Tell me, how have you… been?"

Taken aback by the half caring gesture her sister had made, Lily swallowed and responded, "Fine. I've been just… fine. Why do you ask?"

"You're happy, then?" The question was spoken in a strange, strangled, voice. Petunia avoided meeting her sister's eyes as she asked the question, choosing to stare at the rose, instead.

"Yes, I believe I am," Lily answered softly.

Petunia twirled the rose between her thumb and forefinger, looking up at the sky expectantly, paying no attention to its thorns. She plucked a petal off of the flower and tossed it into the air. "Let the wind carry it," she said in the same subdued, strangled, voice. Sure enough, it was picked up by a breeze and fluttered off, proof enough, apparently, to her sister that the breeze was still there. Turning to her sister, Petunia asked, "So you have found peace, then? You have been able to live your life happily?"

"Yes," came the soft reply.

Her sister turned to her. "You're happy?" she asked again in disbelief. Unexpectedly, she raised a hand and struck her sister. As Lily's hand went automatically to the side of her face, her sister continued breathlessly, "Happy, while the rest of us are drowning in misery? What right have you to be happy, Lily Evans? This isn't your magical little world, Lily; you can't escape from reality this time. Your parents are dead. And you still have the effrontery to tell me that you are happy?"

Petunia moved past her, clutching both the handbag and the rose until her knuckles were white.

Still standing rooted in the same spot, staring after her sister, Lily's hands went numbly to her hair, now twisted in an elaborate bun at the nape of her neck, adjusting the pins and the hat, lifting the black veil that covered her face. As she let the cool air soothe the sting of her sister's blow, she found that the sting of her sister's words were still- if not even more acutely- painfully there.

It was true, really. What right had she to be happy now? But then, she countered, she didn't feel remotely happy. Really, it seemed no emotion could penetrate through her. Even now, with all those around her, mourning the loss of her parents, she couldn't feel anything. It was as if she could no longer feel at all- and that wasn't how she had wanted it to be. And yet, there was still no stirring of emotion in her as this thought occurred, no tears were shed, no feeling at all.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered softly, her eyes closed, letting her words be carried by the cool, salty, breeze- along with a hope that they would be heard by someone with sympathetic ears. Trouble shared is trouble halved, her mother had once told her.

Exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, Lily fingered the soft, velvety petals of the white lily in her hands, taking in the fragrance of it, the breeze that ruffled it, and, momentarily, almost felt her mother's kiss upon her forehead as the breeze passed her again.

Opening her eyes in surprise, she found that the first few droplets of rain had begun to fall from the sky. Like the tears of the angels, she had thought as a small child. Feeling the droplets of water wash upon her face, she let the tears she had held back for so long release, the first salty tear joining the pelting rain. Looking down at the lily in her hands, Lily let a small smile touch her lips- the first true smile in what seemed like years.

*~*~*~*~*

"Mmm, pretty," Nina said faintly, admiring the single lavender she had removed from the bunch. "Pity they had to cut it in order for you to give me this bouquet. Its beauty may never be matched - and we can only admire it a short while before it begins to wilt… soon it will be nothing but a memory." Shaking her head, James's mother carefully placed it among the others in the vase. Beckoning her son, who had begun to pace between her bed and her dresser, she murmured, "Come closer, James. Come, sit on the bed, hmm? Humor your mother, won't you?"

"Yes, mother?" He was obediently at her side, with a touch of concern in his eyes. "What is it?"

Nina closed her eyes. "I don't want you to feel bitter when I'm gone. I'm tired, now, and it will be a good rest for me. I've lived my life, James, and I've lived it well. I don't regret a thing, truly, I don't. Do you understand what I'm saying, James?"

Her son swallowed. "Not completely, mother, no."

She smiled softly, murmuring, "No need. I just want you to know that when I do die, I'll be ready for it. I've lived my life, and I've been happy with it. Really," she added, sensing her son's disbelief. "It's you that I'm worried about."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, mother," James replied.

"Yes, you, dear," the smile on her face faded. "Even if you do live a long, healthy, life, what good will it do you, James, if you never learn how to enjoy it? Your life has been so centered around your studies, around our expectations of you; we were so happy when you became friends with Remus and Sirius. For once, you learned to view the world in a brighter, newer, view. And yet, though we realize you value your friendship with them, you still never learned to appreciate the minor things in life that makes life worth living, no matter how much time we have. Do you understand?"

James frowned. "What exactly are you saying, mother?"

The smile returned, giving her a serene expression. "I want you to notice the small details in your daily life. Go for a walk in the rain. Smell a flower. Write a letter to someone- anyone. It doesn't matter what you do, James, as long as you do it. Time is such a fragile thing, James; it can be taken away from you at any moment. How much time you're given doesn't matter; what you do with it is what counts. Remember that, James."

"Yes, mother," he replied softly, his grip on her hand tightening. He could almost feel her slipping away from him, her breathing becoming shallower.

"Promise me you'll do that, James," she murmured, with effort. "Live life without regrets. It's the small twists and turns that make us who we are, hmm? No reason to regret any of that." Her breathing grew to be short, quick, breaths.

"Yes, mother," he answered again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear for her.

"Thank you, James," she murmured, smiling again as she closed her eyes wearily. Soon after this statement, he felt her hand fall limp in his and no longer heard her labored breathing. The soft smile was still on her face, giving her the appearance, in his opinion, of an angel.

Leaning over, James kissed his mother lightly on the forehead before letting go of her hand. "Thank you, mum," he whispered softly as he stood up and walked briskly out of the room. The scent of lavenders followed him out.

*~*~*~*~*

Lily sighed as she touched the cold marble of the two headstones. The rest of the crowd had left, seeking refuge under the tent, while she remained behind to meet the thing that had been occupying her dreams and her reveries ever since she had returned.

"Hi, mum," she murmured, stopping first before her mother's grave. It was made of a smooth, black, marble, with an etching of a small lily and a rose above the inscription. The stems of the two flowers formed a small double scroll beneath the flowers, each scroll in the opposite direction, a vine of ivy forming a scroll above the flowers. An indefinite, four-petal flower was etched at the section where the scrolls of the two flower stems met. Lily recognized it as the Corollari family's signature insignia, having seen it stamped upon the wax seal of all her Great Aunt's letters. Her eyes trailing down, she read the inscription:

In Loving Memory

~ Marigold Riddington Evans ~

Devoted Wife, Caring Mother, Loving Sister,

And Dear Friend

1933~1978

"I'm sorry I… I'm sorry I couldn't save you," she murmured softly. "And I'm sorry for all the times I resented you in the past. I'm sorry I never went home for holidays like you always asked. I'm sorry I… never told you how much I really did appreciate you when I had the chance. I'm sorry that we don't have any more time left together…" Wiping a tear hastily, she laughed- a sob was mixed in. "Sorry, mum, I really am. I never meant for any of those things to happen, and now… Well, if there's one thing you taught me, it's never to be sorry for someone's living. Really, I suppose we should be celebrating your life, rather than mourning your death… You were such a wonderful, beautiful, person."

Reaching out and letting her finger trace the words "Caring Mother", she continued, "The thing that I really can't get over is referring to you in the past tense. You still are for me, no matter how far back in the past you are for everyone else. I can still hear all of your words in my mind, every day. As long as I'm here, you're here with me. And right now, mum… well, I'm here."

Smiling slightly as she placed the pristine-white lily in her hands at the bottom of the headstone, next to her sister's black rose, she murmured, "Ironic, isn't it mother, that lilies symbolize both death and perfection?" Letting a small laugh escape, she continued, "I'd say the perfection pertains to you, mother. You were always perfect in my eyes, always, even when I was angry with you… I suppose that was the reason why I was angry, since I knew you'd always be right. You were my mother, how could I not think of you as perfect?"

Her finger trailing down to "Dear Friend", she went on. "Death, however, doesn't suit you. It never did. You were always so full of life when you were alive, why should that change now? I still see you with the same livelihood and optimism as ever- I never saw you without it. To me, you're still alive as ever- I can feel you everywhere I go. Your very essence is in the sunrise, I suppose- beautiful, powerful, giving hope, ending darkness, and promising a new day." Sighing, Lily's hand left the headstone. "I guess what I wanted to say, mum, is that… well, I love you."

*~*~*~*~*

James stared at the letter in his hand, sitting in a chair inside of his parents' bedroom while his father paced before the window, occasionally looking out at the steady rain, as if for reassurance. It was sealed in an envelope; his mother's slanted cursive addressing it to him. "I don't understand, sir. What do you want me to do with it?"

James Potter Senior glanced wearily at his son. "Your mother wrote it a while ago, when we first found out..." He swallowed, unable to finish. Returning to his reverie while staring out the window, James's father remained stonily silent before continuing, "She wanted you to read it after she… died. That was all she ever told me." Sighing, as if he was suffering the worst kind of punishment, he turned from the window.

As he made a move towards the door, James stopped his father with a light tap of the shoulder. Slowly, almost painfully, Mr. Potter turned, asking edgily, "What?"

"I was just wondering, sir…" James swallowed a lump in his throat. "I just needed to know… dad. Did you… love her?"

His father set his jaw, a stormy look in his eyes, his expression dulled. After exhaling a long breath, he replied softly, "Yes." Walking out of the room quickly, Mr. Potter strode down the hall to his wife's bedroom, in search, presumably, of his wife's doctor, leaving his son in the room alone to make sense of what the letter meant.

Turning the envelope, he found the red wax seal with his mother's stamp, two lavenders encircling her initials in a narrow script. Something about the familiar seal he had seen so many times before gave him the desire to both smile and cry at the same time. He chose neither, remaining silent as he stared at the seal for several seconds that made up an eternity, before he finally broke it. The familiar fragrance of his mother's room hit him, the lavender most prominent, nostalgia surrounding and enclosing him. Catching his breath, he opened the letter.

"Dear James,

I suppose, if you're reading this now, then I am no longer alive. The reason for this letter, however, is not because of my death; it is because of your life. I would hope that you understand, in most circumstances, but given this situation, I have learned a few things of my own- a few things I would like you to know, if I never have the opportunity to speak to you again. Most importantly, however, I want you to know that it's not absolutely necessary for you to understand me now. What's important is that you will hopefully come to some peace of mind from what I say now.

I have lived a life without regrets, James, and I have lead a good one- I was blessed, in a sense, as are you, to have been born into such a life of fortune- no matter how much time you or I have on Earth, we are blessed to have ever truly lived. One must learn to appreciate this to enjoy living, as did I. After all, what have I to regret? Your father was a loving man, you were a wonderful, intelligent son, and I couldn't have come across two people who could have made my life any happier than you did. What we did not have in quantity, we had in quality. Thus, I accept my fate, as you will yours, someday.

Nobody lives forever, James. 'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh', is what they say. I was given a life, I have lived it, and I die. But you must know, James, the ones we love never truly leave us, neither from death or any other obstacle. I am still there, I still watch over you, and, most importantly, I still love you. Nothing will ever change that- you will always have my unconditional love as your mother. I will remember you as my bright, intelligent, caring, son, for that was what you were born as, and nothing can mar my memory of you as such. Someday, perhaps you will understand this. I don't expect you to now- you have already exceeded your father's and my expectations by far, and we truly are proud to call you our son.

As I have died, though, I still want you to live. I want you to be able to wake up and see the beauty of the sunrise, to hear the joy in the nesting robin's song. I wish I could help you, but no matter how hard I try, that will always be something that you must discover for yourself. Most of all, James, I want you to learn how to feel- joy, sadness, and love. It's what makes the day worth living through, what makes life worth going through. And, someday, when you do, remember me and take out this letter again. Read it, and think of your mother… think of me and remember my life. In doing so, I will never truly leave you, as long as you remember me. Try to understand, if not now, later, what I am trying to tell you.

I wish the best to you, James, for now and through the rest of your life. Do not mourn my death but celebrate my life… even more, live your own life, as well. Live it without regrets, live it by appreciating the details of each day, live it by loving someone else. Never fall to what someone else wants you to do with your life, make your own destiny. Remember me, as I will you. And, lastly, learn how to live, it is something everybody must learn on their own- but still keep in mind your friends, who will help make it more bearable. Never forget that I am your mother and I love you.

Yours truly,

~ Nina Potter ~".

Finishing the letter, James slowly folded it up, promising himself not to read it until he felt it was time to again. And then, for the first time in his life, he cried.

*~*~*~*~*

Before she stepped inside, Lily took in the morning air, feeling herself swept up in the bittersweet nostalgia of it all again. Now, however, she felt as if something that had been bothering her was finally put to rest, that her questions, though they remained unanswered, could remain that way without disturbing her. A heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she could breathe the air around her again without inhaling gloom and bitterness as well.

As she walked to the Great Hall, feeling lighter with each step, she noted that it was still early morning, with the sun just beginning to rise- most of the students would still be asleep. That was a good thing, she found, thankful for the few moments of solitude, for once. Pausing before the door, she turned around to take in the view of the sunrise from the large window just outside of the Great Hall.

The sunrise was indeed beautiful, giving hope and promise of a new day. Her eyes straying from the rising sun while the first rays of golden light streamed through the window, she noticed a few small sparrows singing joyfully perched on a small tree nearby. The picturesque scene reminded her vaguely of a poem.

"Hope is a thing with feathers, That perches in the soul," she murmured softly, closing her eyes, simply feeling the warmth of the sunlight upon her face. It was her mother's smile, her father's kiss… it was calming.

"That sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all," a voice behind her finished for her. Opening her eyes and turning around, she met the smiling eyes of James Potter. Smiling slightly, he murmured, "Hi."

Closing her eyes and opening them again, as if to make certain of his presence, she smiled as well, acknowledging him. He always seemed to appear at the most inopportune- or, maybe, opportune- moments. Returning the greeting, she said softly, "Hi."

"Emily Dickinson," he said after a pause. Glancing out the window as well, he murmured, "Fitting for that, I suppose. It does give a person hope, scenes like that. Then again, Hogwarts seems to always provide such poetic scenes to the wrong people." At Lily's raised eyebrow, he replied, "Well, most girls would find it… romantic, of sorts. Pity it was wasted on us."

She was mildly amused to find him blushing lightly. "Not a complete waste," she said at last. "It reminds me more of my mother."

"The poem or the sunrise?" he asked, watching her stare out the window once more. She seemed to do that more often than usual lately, he had noted, staring wistfully outside when she was inside. He wondered vaguely what she would do if they were outside. Stare inside, perhaps?

"Both, I suppose," she answered. "I see your point, though- it does give a person hope either way. What I'd like to know is what it gives hope for." Staring out the window, she watched as the sparrows flitted from the small tree to a larger one, one of them regarding her with a wary glance through the window. So occupied was she with this scene that she almost missed his answer, a short, brief, one-word explanation which seemed to explain it all perfectly.

"Life."

*~*~*~*~*

(A/N): Did anyone notice? It's been a year and a day since I first started this! Whoo! Eurgh… that was bad. Poorly written… Gah, we need a new word to describe this… Over-fluffed fluff which becomes something not at all fluffy. Melodrama? Wait, that's already a word…

I was listening to Sarah McLachlan's "I Will Remember You" throughout the whole time, so I blame the song for this poorly written chapter. So sorry, people, I beg at the mercy of the reviewers for wasting your time with this, and taking so long to write it, as well (it actually turned out to be longer than expected).

Anyway… Ahem. Excuse the insert of Emily Dickinson; I read it somewhere and it just seemed fitting for the scene. I do apologize for the fact that it's not centered or aligned; I can't upload it that way anymore, for some reason. Can anyone help me? HTML codes don't work, and even though it shows up centered when I type it on Windows, it still doesn't show up on ff.net. Is this happening to anyone else?

To Come: Valentine's Day Ball, Gilderoy Lockhart (how could I forget him?), the leave of Leslie, and, lastly, a mention of the mysterious Peter Grismire again.

Don't forget to tell me your favorite and least favorite chapter(s)! R/R!