I just wanted to thank everyone for reading, and to tell you all that I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it too. I am considering writing anotherone of the same nature but with the men of the HP universe; however, school is back and this fic would be long in the waiting. We'll see! Thanks again!
Part Five: Normality is Relative
Lily Potter placed the teacups into the hot water, savouring the warm sensation that made her fingers tingle with sudden heart. Gently, and by hand, she scrubbed the white china, washing away any trace of the light brown liquid that it had contained mere moments ago. She dried them off, dumped the rest of the now tepid tea into the drain, and rounded up the plates that remained on the table, the last remnants of their evening meal.
James had left a few moments ago, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he placed a hand onto his infant son's sleeping head, before sweeping through the door, Sirius and Remus not far behind. The trio had departed to the final of the Quidditch World Cup, lugging their tent and equipment behind them. She had laughed at the sight, watching as the lanky Remus tried to balance two bags and a tent as Sirius and James rounded up some last minute supplies. She had fed them dinner and then they were off through the door, getting ready for the next evening where they would watch England play Romania for the Cup.
Lily smiled in reminiscence and happiness before she returned to her cleaning, her pearl white hands scrubbing and rinsing and drying. She carefully placed all of the dishes and china back where they belonged, into the small cupboards of their modestly sized home. Sighing, she collected her book from where it lay on the table and went into the next room, sitting down onto the plaid but comfortable couch and leaning into the soft material.
She fully intended to open the pages of her book and read the latest exploits of the female heroine, but something was causing disquiet in her mind. It had been dancing on the edges of her consciousness for days, but she couldn't find the source of the nagging feeling that was irritating her thoughts.
It had started with the message from Dumbledore, she realized, dropping the book onto the floor beside her. Yes, that was it. The message. Cryptic, confusing, but revealing and unnerving all the same.
Be ready. The prophecy draws near.
Her heart thumped as she thought of it, and she looked back in the direction of her son's room to reassure herself that he was still there. The chance that her son, her child, her baby boy could be taken away, could be captured, could be killed was heartbreaking, and despite herself, she could feel the cool sensation of a tear glide down her cheek. She didn't brush it away; too preoccupied to do so as her mind raced with thought of death and destruction and an infant child named Harry James Potter.
The day she had first held him in her arms was still fresh in her mind, at the forefront of her thoughts as she leaned even farther back into the soft plaid couch. She had been tired, so bloody tired, but when the nurse had turned to her and shown her a bright red face contained with a harsh yellow sheet, all her pain and exhaustion seemed to slip away, and she had been filled with such emotion that her heart threatened to burst. James was grinning ear to ear beside her, his unruly hair falling over his glasses as he leaned over her and touched the tiny being in his wife's arms.
The tear on her cheek was joined by another, and another, and another. She didn't want her son to be taken away from her, she didn't want He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to come, she didn't want him to die and all she wanted was for this stupid, Godforsaken war to just bloody end! Her shoulders started to shake with a confused mixture of anger and worry and sorrow, with tears of all three kinds plunging from red-rimmed green eyes onto the shag carpeting below. For countless moments she sat there, just crying and thinking, laying back against her old sofa and releasing all of her pent-up emotions. Lily Potter just let go.
She could have gone on for a lifetime if a wailing cry hadn't pierced the still silence around her. Hastily, she wiped all of her silly tears away and quickly moved out through the hall and into her son's room. She moved over to the crib, looked down, and met a pair of very familiar eyes.
Mother and son just stared at each other, both of their worries forgotten, as the silence came back in around them. Two sets of identical eyes locked in together, and it was a long moment before Lily broke her stare and reached down into the crib to pick up her very astute son.
He nestled his soft face into the crook of her arm, and she was back in the hospital room again, when the nurse reached out and placed him into her arms, arms that seemed to have only one singular purpose; arms that had waited a lifetime to complete their task.
She looked down to him, and memorized his appearance, as that gnawing feeling returned and a strange, nameless fear rose up her spine. Her eyes caught the scruff of black hair; the clear and perfect complexion of his soft pale face; the tiny fingers and toes that were all the right numbers. She watched for a minute or an hour, and then finally Lily turned to the door, satisfied, and carried her infant son from the room, perhaps to catch the last twenty minutes of yesterday's semi-final Quidditch game. Tomorrow could wait, time could wait, the prophecy could wait. For now, she was just Lily Potter, mother of Harry Potter, and they were just another normal family without a care in the world.