The Mother's Tale
Title: The Mother’s Tale
Author: quill_lumos
Type: Fiction
Length: 2,686 words (one-shot)
Main character or Pairing: No Pairings. Main character Lily Potter
Card: The Empress
Card Interpretation: "The fruitful mother of thousands, desire and the wings thereof, as the woman clothed with the Sun." and "She is spinning the thread of life out of stars and air."
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter, related nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and any other entity involved.
Warnings: Character Death
Summary: Although long gone from this world, Lily still impacts on the lives of those who knew her and one who never got to.
Author Notes: This story is about Lily. Lilies are considered very special flowers throughout the world. They are linked to the month of May in many countries in Europe, and in China the name for lily means ‘forever in love’. They are also linked with pure love, like that of a mother, tenderness and a return to happiness.
This fic was betaed by kimkirk and thequeenanne. Thank you my dears. All mistakes are my own.
Written forhp_tarot
The Mother’s Tale
Here, it was peace, beauty, and tranquillity amongst the angels, amongst the stars. She didn’t really know who she was, who she had been; it didn’t matter anymore anyway. In this place, she had no name, for one was not needed. There was no pain here, no sadness, just endless joy and the eternal dance.
She didn’t know how long she had been here, a dancer in the stars, spinning the web of life with countless thousands of others; there was no way to measure time here, no way at all, for the dance and the spinning went on forever. But this dancer could not be free like the others; this dancer had been trapped, ensnared. She was not truly a part of it, not any longer, and she was being called away. She fought hard not to be pulled loose with all of her strength, for the dance was everything, it was hypnotic and all she wanted to do was continue dancing. But in the end, she had no choice
There was a deeper connection, a sadness that transcended all else. It anchored her and stopped her from spiralling free. For now, for the moment, she was needed elsewhere.
So the pull took her away from the other dancers and dragged her to overwhelming wretchedness, to sadness, to Earth.
For she was the Lily, born from the milk of the Goddess Hera. Madonna, the mother of thousands. Her light still shone, despite the fact that her mortal life had been extinguished. She lived on in the hearts of many. They were forever in love with her, loyal to eternity and she had to return; with the cycle of the year. She had tasks as yet left unfulfilled.
A bitter man with a guilty heart; he remembered her. He remembered the light that she had brought into his life, the joy. And he treasured it and held it close. But he did not share it with others in the way that he should; he hoarded it. So the light could not grow, instead it stagnated and became dim.
There was another man, lost to her, lost to them all forever perhaps. Who, for a moment of glory, had betrayed them to evil so monstrous, that his soul was forfeit. But of course this he knew. He cringed and begged and hoped that his master would gift him immortality so that he could escape his fate. But he had rejected love, and there was nowhere for him to go when his life was done. He would probably never join the dancers. Instead, he was one of the damned.
Yet another man was lost to blackness and a sorrow so deep, that there seemed to be no end to it; surrounded by beings that would tear his soul and dark stone walls and madness. She knew that he was protected from evil by the love he had for others. Misguided, hot-tempered, he was nevertheless a good man. He would join the dance too, very soon.
Then there was the friend who wandered alone. He held guilt in his heart and hoarded it but for far less reason than most. He was scorned for what he was, abandoned and alone; she must bring him home to those who needed him.
An old, old wizard who was supposed to be wise, he needed her too. He should have joined the dance long ago. He had goodness in his heart, but he was lonely. Leadership and responsibility was, after all, the loneliest task of all.
A woman, who had once been beloved, now twisted with envy, harsh with her loss; she tried hard to forget Lily, pretended to despise her, denied her true self. She had to be helped back to the path as well, before it was too late for her soul.
And finally the child, her precious child; he needed her more than any. The little boy whose treatment should have ground him down; surrounded by hatred, as he was, he should have become twisted. If denied love, do we not fade? Like lilies in a field, without water, without sunlight, he should have withered and died. But her child did not wither; he grew straight and true, his heart shone with goodness and his soul was filled with love. This was her tie, her anchor. Her child needed his mother if he was ever to know love.
I love you, my Harry. A breath of sweet air as tender as a kiss, for a tiny boy who was crying, huddled in a stuffy, dark place, when outside shone the sunshine on the first day of May. Tears dried, eyes widened, the small space smelt of lily-of-the-valley, enduring and yet subtle, the aroma of eternal love.
I love you, my Harry, I love you. His hair moved gently in the whisper of a breeze, but there was no wind today and the air in the cupboard was otherwise still.
Each one did she visit, reminding them of their promises in their dreams: Look after him, protect my child. They stirred in their beds, from wondrous visions of peace and happiness and a glorious dance that went on for eternity.
Remember me, remember your promises, look after my son.
All but Harry, who owed no promises; to him she gave her love.
Hold on, Harry, not long now. The little boy, whose tears had painted his cheeks, who had cried himself to sleep once again. Who stirred with a ghostly caress and smiled at his dreams. There is love for you, Harry, and acceptance. Just wait a little longer, my child, you will find happiness one day.
Each May, they all remembered - those she visited - and they renewed their promises. But dreams are ephemeral: they fade with the dawn. Lilies do not last forever and their scent, it soon fades. And promises are often forgotten too, long before they should be.
So the years went by and the child grew.
Abandoned and lonely, but in his heart he knew love.
He adored the early summer, because the scent of lily-of-the-valley would fill his cupboard and his aunt Petunia would be nicer to him. She would let him play in the sunshine and he could pretend, if only for a while, that he was loved.
When older and at Hogwarts, he still loved May and June, even when bad things happened as they always did at the end of the school year. The scent of the flowers, the feelings of well-being, they always came in May too.
Even the year he lost Sirius, when he had almost broken, nearly despaired, somehow the scent of lilies surrounded him and somehow he knew he was loved, and that gave him just enough strength to carry on.
But still, he sought mentors, protectors, from those who had known his parents. Still, he sought love. Some accepted him and treasured him, and some turned away long before.
But Lily was called in turn for them all.
She came for Sirius, the shining prince, the Dog Star, and took him home, so damaged, so brutalised by what life had done to him that he could not carry on. She came for Albus, the white one, who shone in his own way and who was reluctant to forsake his charge, but who was so tired, so worn out with the struggle against darkness that his strength had forsaken him at last. And she came for Petunia when she died too, standing against evil, for the sake of her son and her nephew, giving Harry time to get them both away safely, ensuring them a future.
As part of the dance, they knew no more sorrow, only joy and a sense of the oneness of the universe. They forgot how small they were, how insignificant against the tapestry of time that they wove. They were welcomed in their crossing over and taken home, led into the spiral by he who had once been James. One by one, as each had their passing, each in the summer in May or in June.
And then Lily’s final calling; the last battle. After today, she could go home at last, too.
So many tortured souls she could not help, those who had turned to darkness and would never dance again. Each one extinguished, banished to a world where they would relive the pain that they had bestowed on others.
But not Peter, who took a killing curse for Harry, who in the end did not turn his back on the son of his oldest friends; and not Severus, who had fought so long for the side of light and against the darkness in his own soul.
She watched Harry cradle her friend, her Half Blood Prince, while his life was ended. Saw the tears that her son cried for another loss. Saw the hand yellowed from potion making, reach to her son’s perfect cheek and caress it just for a moment, his eyes holding regret for what could never have been.
“I am sorry, Harry. So sorry, please forgive me, I was never kind to you.”
She watched her son sob as Severus’ body seemed to collapse in upon itself and then he stood; Severus, his essence, unencumbered by the heavy weight of his corporeal form and stared around with his dark eyes wide.
Lily? Oh my precious girl, it is you, my Lily. At last!
She smiled and she knew that it lit up her face, and he smiled at her in return.
Hello Severus, she said, I have come to take you home.
But soon another joined them, a short stumbling man who looked at them with hunger in his eyes.
Oh Lily, dear Lily. I am so sorry; what I did was unforgivable. I know I am damned. What I did to you and James, to Harry, I have carried the guilt for years, and I want you to know, to hear from me that I regret it from the very depths of my soul.
She smiled at him too, the one she had thought lost to them. He was sorry; he expected no amnesty, no leniency. She could see it in his heart. Yet, in the last few months of his life, he had tried to atone, he had suffered for others, he had saved many. It had been decided; he was to be given a reprieve. She extended her hand and took his and held it tightly. Garnering a look of joy, of hope, that lit up the afternoon.
Can I come too, Lily, please?
It was her dear Remus, staggering towards her. He had been so badly wounded, once upon a time, fighting Greyback, so scarred, so damaged; his voice was breaking with grief.
Don’t leave me alone again. Please, Lily, can I come too?
It was tranquil now on this field of mourning. The fighting was ended and this time for good. The shade of Remus, extended his hand to her, pleading, begging, but Lily was taking just two souls home today; she smiled at him kindly and shook her head.
I cannot take you yet, my dearest, she saidYou have love, you have a reason to go on. Live for us, Remus; it is not your time to die. You have a future, as do your children, generations to come, shining before me. You are Harry’s friend and his support that is your joy and your burden; you are all that is left of us, the last to remember. Live Remus, live for us all./I>
His face fell for a moment, but then she gifted him a glimpse of what she could see. Prejudice against magical creatures ended, harmony, peace, a world without war and all thanks to Harry, her child, her son. She truly was the mother of thousands, her love supported them all, and this was the future that would be woven now, by the dancers in the stars.
The shade that was Remus returned to his body, mollified, with a task ahead of him that would take the rest of his life.
She watched as her golden child reached the stricken man. She watched as Remus’ chest filled with air, with life, and he breathed again. She watched as his eyes opened and saw Harry, and she watched still as her child embraced another, the brave beautiful young man that she longed to hold, yet whom she was forbidden to know.
For she was a dancer and that was her destiny: to return to the dance.
But, all at once, Harry was looking directly at her; he saw her, truly saw her, his green eyes widened, like when he was a child. He could smell the perfume, lilies-of-the-valley.
A girl with bright eyes and flaming locks as bright as her own, infused with sunlight stood by his side and loved him, and she saw Lily too.
They were frozen, gazing at each other in wonderment. Just for a moment, the three of them.
Time stood still. She drank in his beauty, his vibrancy; he was so alive, her son. “Hello Mum,” he said; her precious darling, he for whom she had gladly given her own life. She had not had long enough with her baby, it had happened too soon.
“You are so beautiful, Mum,” his voice was filled with awe, pregnant with love. His eyes filled with tears. He held up his girlfriend’s hand, “This is Ginny, I love her; she will be my wife….I miss you Mum, I’m sorry I didn’t know you well, I wish…. I would have liked to… I hope you are happy, Mum?
“Have you come to take Severus home? Keep him safe; he is a good man, and Mum? Take Peter, please take Peter, forgive him too. His hell was here on earth, he has paid his dues.”
She could never answer him; never speak except through his dreams, though often had she tried.
Live well, my son, she shouted. Be happy, my child, for your sons and daughters will be legend and will bring the beauty of the dance to Earth! I love you Harry, my Harry! But her words carried no weight in their existence; she had faded from their sight and they had turned away. Her journey was over, here on Earth, and it was time to return to the stars.
Come Peter, come Severus, she said clutching their hands tight in her own as they soared towards the heavens, free at last. It is over now, your pain, your sorrow, come with me. Come join the dance.
Harry was exhausted. He sat with his head on his knees, his shoulders bowed, with not even enough energy to stand.
Poppy had had a look at Remus and pronounced him very bruised and battered but otherwise okay. Ron was safe, Hermione, Ginny. He felt numb. Today he had killed Voldemort. The evil was gone, he had a future, they all had a future, and, when all the blood and pain had ended, he had seen his mother and he had felt her love. How often had he wished to see her when he was a child? But maybe he had; that scent, that feeling of warmth, of love, that felt familiar. Maybe she had never really gone away. Maybe Dumbledore had been right, that those we love never truly leave us?
Ginny held out her hand, hauling him to his feet. “Everyone is safe now, Harry,” she said. “No one else will die today.” He took her slender hand and stood, he held her close for a moment, and it was then that he knew that they were finally okay; they had a long life ahead of them, a future. Finally, it was over, and without once looking back at what was past, he let her lead him away without protest.
But somewhere in his heart, he heard a voice: a beautiful voice, as clear as a bell, Live well, my son, be happy, I love you, my Harry, and once again he smelt the sweet scent of lily-of -the-valley carried on the summer breeze.
Author: quill_lumos
Type: Fiction
Length: 2,686 words (one-shot)
Main character or Pairing: No Pairings. Main character Lily Potter
Card: The Empress
Card Interpretation: "The fruitful mother of thousands, desire and the wings thereof, as the woman clothed with the Sun." and "She is spinning the thread of life out of stars and air."
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter, related nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and any other entity involved.
Warnings: Character Death
Summary: Although long gone from this world, Lily still impacts on the lives of those who knew her and one who never got to.
Author Notes: This story is about Lily. Lilies are considered very special flowers throughout the world. They are linked to the month of May in many countries in Europe, and in China the name for lily means ‘forever in love’. They are also linked with pure love, like that of a mother, tenderness and a return to happiness.
This fic was betaed by kimkirk and thequeenanne. Thank you my dears. All mistakes are my own.
Written forhp_tarot
The Mother’s Tale
Here, it was peace, beauty, and tranquillity amongst the angels, amongst the stars. She didn’t really know who she was, who she had been; it didn’t matter anymore anyway. In this place, she had no name, for one was not needed. There was no pain here, no sadness, just endless joy and the eternal dance.
She didn’t know how long she had been here, a dancer in the stars, spinning the web of life with countless thousands of others; there was no way to measure time here, no way at all, for the dance and the spinning went on forever. But this dancer could not be free like the others; this dancer had been trapped, ensnared. She was not truly a part of it, not any longer, and she was being called away. She fought hard not to be pulled loose with all of her strength, for the dance was everything, it was hypnotic and all she wanted to do was continue dancing. But in the end, she had no choice
There was a deeper connection, a sadness that transcended all else. It anchored her and stopped her from spiralling free. For now, for the moment, she was needed elsewhere.
So the pull took her away from the other dancers and dragged her to overwhelming wretchedness, to sadness, to Earth.
For she was the Lily, born from the milk of the Goddess Hera. Madonna, the mother of thousands. Her light still shone, despite the fact that her mortal life had been extinguished. She lived on in the hearts of many. They were forever in love with her, loyal to eternity and she had to return; with the cycle of the year. She had tasks as yet left unfulfilled.
A bitter man with a guilty heart; he remembered her. He remembered the light that she had brought into his life, the joy. And he treasured it and held it close. But he did not share it with others in the way that he should; he hoarded it. So the light could not grow, instead it stagnated and became dim.
There was another man, lost to her, lost to them all forever perhaps. Who, for a moment of glory, had betrayed them to evil so monstrous, that his soul was forfeit. But of course this he knew. He cringed and begged and hoped that his master would gift him immortality so that he could escape his fate. But he had rejected love, and there was nowhere for him to go when his life was done. He would probably never join the dancers. Instead, he was one of the damned.
Yet another man was lost to blackness and a sorrow so deep, that there seemed to be no end to it; surrounded by beings that would tear his soul and dark stone walls and madness. She knew that he was protected from evil by the love he had for others. Misguided, hot-tempered, he was nevertheless a good man. He would join the dance too, very soon.
Then there was the friend who wandered alone. He held guilt in his heart and hoarded it but for far less reason than most. He was scorned for what he was, abandoned and alone; she must bring him home to those who needed him.
An old, old wizard who was supposed to be wise, he needed her too. He should have joined the dance long ago. He had goodness in his heart, but he was lonely. Leadership and responsibility was, after all, the loneliest task of all.
A woman, who had once been beloved, now twisted with envy, harsh with her loss; she tried hard to forget Lily, pretended to despise her, denied her true self. She had to be helped back to the path as well, before it was too late for her soul.
And finally the child, her precious child; he needed her more than any. The little boy whose treatment should have ground him down; surrounded by hatred, as he was, he should have become twisted. If denied love, do we not fade? Like lilies in a field, without water, without sunlight, he should have withered and died. But her child did not wither; he grew straight and true, his heart shone with goodness and his soul was filled with love. This was her tie, her anchor. Her child needed his mother if he was ever to know love.
I love you, my Harry. A breath of sweet air as tender as a kiss, for a tiny boy who was crying, huddled in a stuffy, dark place, when outside shone the sunshine on the first day of May. Tears dried, eyes widened, the small space smelt of lily-of-the-valley, enduring and yet subtle, the aroma of eternal love.
I love you, my Harry, I love you. His hair moved gently in the whisper of a breeze, but there was no wind today and the air in the cupboard was otherwise still.
Each one did she visit, reminding them of their promises in their dreams: Look after him, protect my child. They stirred in their beds, from wondrous visions of peace and happiness and a glorious dance that went on for eternity.
Remember me, remember your promises, look after my son.
All but Harry, who owed no promises; to him she gave her love.
Hold on, Harry, not long now. The little boy, whose tears had painted his cheeks, who had cried himself to sleep once again. Who stirred with a ghostly caress and smiled at his dreams. There is love for you, Harry, and acceptance. Just wait a little longer, my child, you will find happiness one day.
Each May, they all remembered - those she visited - and they renewed their promises. But dreams are ephemeral: they fade with the dawn. Lilies do not last forever and their scent, it soon fades. And promises are often forgotten too, long before they should be.
So the years went by and the child grew.
Abandoned and lonely, but in his heart he knew love.
He adored the early summer, because the scent of lily-of-the-valley would fill his cupboard and his aunt Petunia would be nicer to him. She would let him play in the sunshine and he could pretend, if only for a while, that he was loved.
When older and at Hogwarts, he still loved May and June, even when bad things happened as they always did at the end of the school year. The scent of the flowers, the feelings of well-being, they always came in May too.
Even the year he lost Sirius, when he had almost broken, nearly despaired, somehow the scent of lilies surrounded him and somehow he knew he was loved, and that gave him just enough strength to carry on.
But still, he sought mentors, protectors, from those who had known his parents. Still, he sought love. Some accepted him and treasured him, and some turned away long before.
But Lily was called in turn for them all.
She came for Sirius, the shining prince, the Dog Star, and took him home, so damaged, so brutalised by what life had done to him that he could not carry on. She came for Albus, the white one, who shone in his own way and who was reluctant to forsake his charge, but who was so tired, so worn out with the struggle against darkness that his strength had forsaken him at last. And she came for Petunia when she died too, standing against evil, for the sake of her son and her nephew, giving Harry time to get them both away safely, ensuring them a future.
As part of the dance, they knew no more sorrow, only joy and a sense of the oneness of the universe. They forgot how small they were, how insignificant against the tapestry of time that they wove. They were welcomed in their crossing over and taken home, led into the spiral by he who had once been James. One by one, as each had their passing, each in the summer in May or in June.
And then Lily’s final calling; the last battle. After today, she could go home at last, too.
So many tortured souls she could not help, those who had turned to darkness and would never dance again. Each one extinguished, banished to a world where they would relive the pain that they had bestowed on others.
But not Peter, who took a killing curse for Harry, who in the end did not turn his back on the son of his oldest friends; and not Severus, who had fought so long for the side of light and against the darkness in his own soul.
She watched Harry cradle her friend, her Half Blood Prince, while his life was ended. Saw the tears that her son cried for another loss. Saw the hand yellowed from potion making, reach to her son’s perfect cheek and caress it just for a moment, his eyes holding regret for what could never have been.
“I am sorry, Harry. So sorry, please forgive me, I was never kind to you.”
She watched her son sob as Severus’ body seemed to collapse in upon itself and then he stood; Severus, his essence, unencumbered by the heavy weight of his corporeal form and stared around with his dark eyes wide.
Lily? Oh my precious girl, it is you, my Lily. At last!
She smiled and she knew that it lit up her face, and he smiled at her in return.
Hello Severus, she said, I have come to take you home.
But soon another joined them, a short stumbling man who looked at them with hunger in his eyes.
Oh Lily, dear Lily. I am so sorry; what I did was unforgivable. I know I am damned. What I did to you and James, to Harry, I have carried the guilt for years, and I want you to know, to hear from me that I regret it from the very depths of my soul.
She smiled at him too, the one she had thought lost to them. He was sorry; he expected no amnesty, no leniency. She could see it in his heart. Yet, in the last few months of his life, he had tried to atone, he had suffered for others, he had saved many. It had been decided; he was to be given a reprieve. She extended her hand and took his and held it tightly. Garnering a look of joy, of hope, that lit up the afternoon.
Can I come too, Lily, please?
It was her dear Remus, staggering towards her. He had been so badly wounded, once upon a time, fighting Greyback, so scarred, so damaged; his voice was breaking with grief.
Don’t leave me alone again. Please, Lily, can I come too?
It was tranquil now on this field of mourning. The fighting was ended and this time for good. The shade of Remus, extended his hand to her, pleading, begging, but Lily was taking just two souls home today; she smiled at him kindly and shook her head.
I cannot take you yet, my dearest, she saidYou have love, you have a reason to go on. Live for us, Remus; it is not your time to die. You have a future, as do your children, generations to come, shining before me. You are Harry’s friend and his support that is your joy and your burden; you are all that is left of us, the last to remember. Live Remus, live for us all./I>
His face fell for a moment, but then she gifted him a glimpse of what she could see. Prejudice against magical creatures ended, harmony, peace, a world without war and all thanks to Harry, her child, her son. She truly was the mother of thousands, her love supported them all, and this was the future that would be woven now, by the dancers in the stars.
The shade that was Remus returned to his body, mollified, with a task ahead of him that would take the rest of his life.
She watched as her golden child reached the stricken man. She watched as Remus’ chest filled with air, with life, and he breathed again. She watched as his eyes opened and saw Harry, and she watched still as her child embraced another, the brave beautiful young man that she longed to hold, yet whom she was forbidden to know.
For she was a dancer and that was her destiny: to return to the dance.
But, all at once, Harry was looking directly at her; he saw her, truly saw her, his green eyes widened, like when he was a child. He could smell the perfume, lilies-of-the-valley.
A girl with bright eyes and flaming locks as bright as her own, infused with sunlight stood by his side and loved him, and she saw Lily too.
They were frozen, gazing at each other in wonderment. Just for a moment, the three of them.
Time stood still. She drank in his beauty, his vibrancy; he was so alive, her son. “Hello Mum,” he said; her precious darling, he for whom she had gladly given her own life. She had not had long enough with her baby, it had happened too soon.
“You are so beautiful, Mum,” his voice was filled with awe, pregnant with love. His eyes filled with tears. He held up his girlfriend’s hand, “This is Ginny, I love her; she will be my wife….I miss you Mum, I’m sorry I didn’t know you well, I wish…. I would have liked to… I hope you are happy, Mum?
“Have you come to take Severus home? Keep him safe; he is a good man, and Mum? Take Peter, please take Peter, forgive him too. His hell was here on earth, he has paid his dues.”
She could never answer him; never speak except through his dreams, though often had she tried.
Live well, my son, she shouted. Be happy, my child, for your sons and daughters will be legend and will bring the beauty of the dance to Earth! I love you Harry, my Harry! But her words carried no weight in their existence; she had faded from their sight and they had turned away. Her journey was over, here on Earth, and it was time to return to the stars.
Come Peter, come Severus, she said clutching their hands tight in her own as they soared towards the heavens, free at last. It is over now, your pain, your sorrow, come with me. Come join the dance.
Harry was exhausted. He sat with his head on his knees, his shoulders bowed, with not even enough energy to stand.
Poppy had had a look at Remus and pronounced him very bruised and battered but otherwise okay. Ron was safe, Hermione, Ginny. He felt numb. Today he had killed Voldemort. The evil was gone, he had a future, they all had a future, and, when all the blood and pain had ended, he had seen his mother and he had felt her love. How often had he wished to see her when he was a child? But maybe he had; that scent, that feeling of warmth, of love, that felt familiar. Maybe she had never really gone away. Maybe Dumbledore had been right, that those we love never truly leave us?
Ginny held out her hand, hauling him to his feet. “Everyone is safe now, Harry,” she said. “No one else will die today.” He took her slender hand and stood, he held her close for a moment, and it was then that he knew that they were finally okay; they had a long life ahead of them, a future. Finally, it was over, and without once looking back at what was past, he let her lead him away without protest.
But somewhere in his heart, he heard a voice: a beautiful voice, as clear as a bell, Live well, my son, be happy, I love you, my Harry, and once again he smelt the sweet scent of lily-of -the-valley carried on the summer breeze.