Pip: to peep or chirp.

May 18, 2026

There was, perhaps, no other office in the Auror department so decorated than that of the Head of the Department. First of all, a great number of photographs clustered together on the filing cabinets, the desk, the windowsill, wherever there was room. They showed images of at least six or seven different small children, many well-known faces from the press as they had been in adolescence, and a few scattered, aged snapshots that had been rescued from the whirlpool of time. It was not hard to understand where the Head Auror's motivation lay after one quick glance around his office.

Yet, not a single photograph hung on the walls. They had all been pushed into freestanding frames by a more demanding presence occupying the limited plaster space. Beginning beside the window with abstract finger-paint smears, moving around the door with rainbows, flowers, brightly scaled fish, and blobs that were meant to be people, and exploding on the one entirely blank wall with watercolor paintings of a rather scruffy, teetering, red-roofed farmhouse, sketches of various familiar, freckled faces, and richly colored paintings of soaring phoenixes, cantering silver unicorns, busy London streets, and the ancient stone walls of majestic castle. And in the bottom corner of each piece of artwork was signed a name in looping ink: Lily Luna Potter.

The door to the office creaked open, admitting the Head himself. He was talking rapidly to someone out in the hall, his arms full of bulging files and whirring bits of curious devices. "…they're to be back here by sundown, not a minute later. Make sure Freely checks in with me. I want his report…. No, Sommers leads. She's been working the case – well, tell her that. And if Weasley isn't in here in the next ten minutes, I'm cutting his coffee break; make sure he knows that's a threat!"

With those parting words, Harry Potter let his office door swing shut and hefted his load onto the desk. As he did, however, a loose scrap of parchment fluttered to the floor and he stooped to retrieve it. A fond smile softened the corners of Harry's lips as he straightened up, running a hand through his messy black hair as he reread the familiar script.

The letter had arrived three days before, clamped in the beak of a beautiful, white snowy owl. The primary subject on his daughter's mind had been an upcoming exam in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which had been set for that very morning. For her final project, she had chosen to master one of the trickiest charms accomplished by students: a messenger patronus. A term's worth of one-on-one lessons with her professor, her father's guidance mainly through letters, and at least a dozen books out of the restricted section had gone into this performance.

But it was far more than a grade that hung on her success or failure today. Harry knew this all too well, for the rest of the letter went on to discuss the deal that she had made with him back in December, back when she had first proposed the apprenticeship with a skilled Muggle artist in Italy. It was an opportunity, she had insisted, that didn't come along more than once in a lifetime, and she had argued hard for a freedom her parents were reluctant to grant only because of the vulnerability it posed. But at long last, they had come to an agreement.

Harry set the letter down and turned to look at the art showcase his office had become. They were extraordinary, he knew, had long-since marveled at them. Where this artistic gift came from, neither he nor his wife could very well figure out, but their daughter seemed to know a whole other kind of magic they couldn't begin to work. He touched the corner of the nearest painting, the signature identical to the one at the end of the letter.

Ar least one solid lifeline. That was what he wanted before he would let his little girl venture off into the world alone. He wanted to know that, should she ever need to, she could contact him instantly, that he could be at her side in half an hour at most should she need him. So a patronus was the deal. A corporeal, speaking patronus.

Lily had thrown her whole heart into the effort, but as of Sunday evening, she felt it was a skill impossible to master. The form was indistinct or the voice came out warbled, the spell was too faint to carry a message or jetted off to quickly to pick one up. And she wanted to go to Italy so badly.

With difficulty, Harry laid the letter aside and began attending to the files he had brought with him, glancing at the clock ever now and then as he waited for his second-in-command to finally get around to joining him.

…

It was just before he locked his office door that evening. Most of the cubicles were dark already, so when the silver jet streaked through the room, it drew his eye at once. Instinctively, he drew his wand, heart quickening reactively. But when the light materialized into a solid shape, it was not any of the familiar animals he might have expected.

A small, brilliantly silver wren fluttered in the air before his eyes, swooping in proud little circles. "I did it!" it trilled in his daughter's bubbly, delighted voice. "I did it, Daddy! I'm going to Italy!"

A grin broke out across Harry's face as he watched the tiny bird soar excitedly, chirping Lily's message again out of pure enthusiasm for the job. But there was a small tinge of melancholy mixed in with the pride as he put out a hand for the bird to alight on. He supposed he should have known there would be no holding her back.

Harry lifted the bird up above his head and watched as it launched itself skyward, dissipating into a cloud of silver mist just before it hit the ceiling.

A/N: Nice and long again. Lily Luna Potter fits a wren perfectly in my head. And now you know what her future holds, at least a bit of it. I'd like to say more on the subject, but for now I'll leave it at that. Hope you enjoyed! Oh, and THANK YOU A MILLION TIMES to anyone who helped me reach 500 reviews! You all are amazing! :) Do you think we'll break 1,000?