I do not own Harry Potter, the Wizarding World, or any canon characters.
We are at the height of the second wizarding war and after years of legends about the Boy Who Lived and his parents sacrifice, mothers start 'praying' to Lily's spirit in the hope she will aid them in pulling of a miracle that will protect their children from Voldemort, just like Lily did with Harry
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Magic, fundamentally, was change. It was the ability to cause something to change based on a person's will and ability. Conjuring water, transfiguring wood to metal, casting a charm, hexing or cursing someone, all changes to the physical world based on a person's intent. On a base level, a magical believed that their magic would work, that the spell would be cast and the results would be what they wished. One could even say a magical had faith in themselves. When a magical believed and had faith in themselves, they created magic. When many magicals believed in something and had faith in something greater, they created something more.
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She clutched her child to her. They hid in a tiny cupboard beneath the stairs. She heard the intruders destroying their home, promising to do terrible and awful things. She had cast a silencing charm on her daughter, to prevent her from hearing their threats, to keep her from hearing her mother's crying.
"Please," she begged silently. "Please don't let them find us. Spare my daughter, please. Someone. Anyone."
It took her ages for her to trust that the Snatchers had left. She cast person revealing spells and even then she barely had the courage to look. They had indeed gone. Destroyed her home, stole her valuables, but left her and her daughter alone. They were alive.
One thing caught her eye, a single lily blossom that survived the carnage. It fell before the cupboard and the woman took it as a sign.
A possibility.
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"Run, run and don't look back," the woman said to her sobbing children. "Be brave for them," she asked her oldest. "For me."
"We can make it," the oldest begged.
"You will," the woman said tenderly. She kissed them one last time. "I'll make sure of it."
The children ran and the woman stayed. She almost ran too, her fear almost undoing her. However, the memory of a story of another mother gave her strength, of a mother protecting her son. She knew the other mother died for her child. She knew she would die for her children.
She died that night. So did the Snatchers and Death Eaters that wanted to take her children. Others came to find her body but all they found was a single lily amid the corpses of their awful brethren.
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The woman looked up with dead eyes. "They killed my baby," she said in a dead voice.
"We're sorry," another woman said. Her voice was filled with the same pain, the same loss. "They killed mine too."
"I have nothing left," the first woman said, tears of despair carving their way down her cheeks.
"You do," the other woman gently corrected. "You have your magic. You have your hate. We can take from them what they took from us. You can prevent other babies from dying, from preventing other mother's mourning."
She looked up, her dead eyes coming to life. Her tears no longer tasted bitter; they tasted of salt and heat. "Yes, I can do that."
"We can do that," the other woman agreed. She handed a preserved lily to the first woman who clutched it like a precious lifeline. "Together. For mothers and their children."
"For mothers and their children," the woman whispered.
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The Death Eaters began to notice.
Their hunting parties came back empty handed, came back missing members, never came back at all.
Stories traveled around the false Ministry. Stories of vengeful mothers who did not hold back, who killed as easily as the Death Eaters did.
Stories of women who carried love in their hearts, and had blood on their hands. Stories of women who wore lilies.
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At the dawn of the Battle for Hogwarts, when Harry Potter rose from the ashes and the defenders stood their ground, a wave of reinforcements came to their aid. Women, all who had lost a child or loss a mother, came with fire and fury. They fell on the Death Eaters and helped to tear them apart, spell by spell.
They came with lilies on their clothes, lilies burned or tattooed into their skin.
In the aftermath, they shared stories of how mothers and children found each other. Protected each other. Women who became mothers to those that lost their children. Children providing solace to women who lost their own. How they banded together to stop the Death Eaters and Snatchers from doing what they wished without repercussion.
All said they were inspired by a woman with crimson hair and emerald eyes, inspired by her namesake flower.
Harry could think of no finer legacy for Lily Potter.