This is a short one-shot. ONE-SHOT. I'm not posting another chapter.

This is about Harry's daughter, and what's going on inside her mind.


My name is Lily Potter, and I am the daughter of The Boy Who Lived.

That's right, my father saved the world. He did this many times, and he's never once asked for anything in return. I think maybe he should have. He certainly deserves it.

I was there when he saved the world that final time. I was only six years old, but something like that is pretty hard to forget. Dad had just destroyed the final Horcruxes, but Voldemort hadn't known that and attacked.

For years Voldemort had been trying to kill everyone Dad cared about. After all; even the strongest, bravest, most worthy worrier will lose in battle if he has nothing left to fight for. I don't know how many people Dad lost because of this plan, he won't talk about it. I only know of three of them, and that's only because it happened after I was born.

George Weasley, Remus Lupin, and my mother, Ginny Potter.

I think my Mother's death affected him the most.

I'm getting off topic. Voldemort had attacked with the intention of killing me, fortunately Dad had been late and hadn't left yet. It was a bloody battle, and I can't remember what spells were used, or how long it was. I can remember Voldemort blowing up into a thousand tiny, bloody pieces. I remember that there were people dancing in the streets, and everyone was happy.

Now, ten years later things are different. There is no talk of the war, no talk of the people who died in it, except for the anniversary of the second fall of the Dark Lord. There is always a memorial service for those who died.

Dad and I go every year. We're the first to arrive, and the last to leave.

My Dad is okay for the most part. He's always with Ron and Hermione, and Bill and Fleur, and Fred. Dad once told me that Fred used to be the biggest jokester around. Dad said Fred's sense of humor died with his twin brother. I could tell Dad felt guilty. He didn't say anything when I told him it wasn't his fault.

As I look in the mirror in front of me, I try to ignore the heartbreaking sobs coming from my father's room. He's okay for the most part, as long as he's not alone. When he's alone for too long, he starts thinking about the things he lost.

I look in the mirror, and at the photo next to it. There's a photo of my grandmother, my namesake. I really do look like her. I have the deep red hair, and shining emerald green eyes, and the same body type. The only real difference that I can see is that I have ten times more freckles than she did. A gift from my mother.

I know my Dad loves me, and he always wants to spend time with me, but I also know it hurts him to see someone who looks so much like my mother and my grandmother. I used to wish I didn't look like them, but now that I'm older I know that it's a good thing that I do. I'm the only thing left to remind my Father that something good did happen to him.

He had a daughter with the woman he loved.

I sigh, and make my way to his door. I softly knock, and listen to the crashes inside. I hear a cleansing spell muttered, and I frown as I hear a cracked voice tell me to come in.

I walk into the room, and see my father standing in the middle. The Great Boy Who Lived was reduced to hiding his pain from his sixteen year old daughter. It was pathetic, and I'm slightly bitter about it, I know he's stronger than that.

I walk up to him and I pull him into a tight hug and I whisper. "You don't have to hide anything from me."

I feel him hug me back, and nod.

I close my eyes and wonder if he'll ever really, truly be okay. He deserves more than this. He deserves the world. I hate that he doesn't have it.

Maybe I should owl Ron and Hermione. They always make him feel better. I will later, until then... I'll just hold him like he held me when mom died twelve years ago. When he had no choice but to be strong.

Because He is strong. He did something that would have killed a lesser man.

He saved the world.

Now it's my turn to save him.


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