Lily’s Eyes


Monday morning found Harry Potter scraping butter onto a slice of toast. He started to take a bite of it, but the lingering stench of rotten Flobberworms on his hand made him feel sick. He must have washed his hands a hundred times since Snape’s detention on Saturday night, but the smell would simply not come off. Dropping the buttered toast to his plate, he glared at the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who, if Harry was not mistaken, smirked at him.

Ron had obviously seen who his friend was glowering at, because he uttered a single, very offensive word. Harry looked almost automatically over at Hermione, expecting her to voice a protest, but all she did was to look up from her brick of a book and roll her eyes at Ron.

Wondering if a spoon would provide enough distance between his nose and stinky hand, Harry returned to his thoughts. His second lesson with Dumbledore was scheduled for that evening, and he speculated on what he might find out about Voldemort’s past this time. His initial disappointment at not learning something more significant was almost gone. Also, he still did not see the whole point of getting to know the history of the creature who had murdered his parents. Even if he trusted the headmaster, he could not quite understand how this was going to help him fulfill the prophecy.

Harry was interrupted in his attempt to eat porridge without breathing by the arrival of the morning post. Pretty much by habit at this point, he and Ron turned to Hermione as she unfolded her copy of the Daily Prophet Harry did not get to hear her report though, before something nudged his elbow. Looking around, he found himself facing a plain barn owl that was holding out its leg to him. Surprised to say the least, Harry untied the thick envelope and the bird took off.

“Who is it from, Harry?” Hermione asked, book and morning paper forgotten.

He examined his own name and house on the front before admitting, “No idea. I’m not expecting a letter from anyone.”

“Maybe it’s from Dumbledore,” Ron suggested and nodded towards the Headmaster’s empty seat.

“No. I’d recognise his handwriting,” Harry said and flipped the envelope over again.

“Perhaps if you opened it, you would find out?” said Hermione pointedly.

Shrugging, Harry reached for a clean knife and slit the letter open. He pulled out several pages of thick Muggle notepaper, not parchment, and noticed they had writing on both sides. It was quite an essay he had received.

“What does it say?” Ron leaned forward to find out.

But without really thinking about it Harry sat back out of his friends’ reach and started reading the unfamiliar handwriting.

Dear Harry,

I know this letter will come as a shock to you, or at least it will be a shock when you have finished reading it. I have been keeping these secrets for so long, determined not to tell anyone and especially not you. But I’m growing old and I’m alone, and I can no longer be the sole judge for whether these memories should die with me or not. I have had plans on writing this letter for a long while, but it seems now that the entire Wizarding World knows about you being the Chosen One, the time is growing short. I wanted you to get to read this before you face the Dark Lord, before he is bound to kill you. I rest assured that you will share the contents of these pages with no one, because being as protective as you are, you wouldn’t want me to be in danger for my words, would you?

It pains me so much that I, a person you don’t know, am the only one who can tell you the truth. I’m sure that everyone from your Aunt Petunia to Albus Dumbledore has told you stories about your parents, of the love they shared, how brave they were, and how delighted they were when they had you. It pains me to be the person who has to smash these pretty memories you have been fed. Because they are not altogether true. Lily and James might have shared some feelings, she was certainly in love with him. But James only ever got his second greatest love. Lily never found out though, that her husband had really preferred another woman --- me. In the same way did she never find out the truth about the child she nourished, that he, or you rather, was never her own. You will have undoubtedly been told how much you resemble your father, I can see it so clearly from the photos I have collected of you. But those eyes you carry that look so like Lily’s, didn’t come from her ... but from her sister. Me. I hardly think it’s appropriate to even call them ‘Lily’s eyes.’ I am - was - her elder, after all.

“Harry?”

He looked up from the notepaper, and stared at Hermione.

“I need to get going or I’ll be late for Runes. Tell me about the letter later, will you?” she asked earnestly.

“Yeah…” he nodded numbly and barely caught his friend’s smile before she rushed off.

The Great Hall was being quickly deserted as students and teachers all set off for classes. Ron was eyeing Harry, looking like he was searching for the right thing to say.

“Well, if you don’t want to talk about your letter I think I’ll go get my broomstick and fly for a bit,” he said and stood up.

Harry looked up at his curious friend. He knew he had to finish reading before discussing it with anyone. „You go ahead. I might come down when I've read this,” he said and waved the pages.

“Okay,” Ron nodded and went to join some of the last students leaving the Hall.

Harry returned to the letter.

I was the first one in my family to come to Hogwarts, and there I was sorted into Ravenclaw. I was always told what a quick learner I was, and the classes I didn't have a knack for, the professors’ respect for me made up for it. Really, I excelled naturally in many things. Sharp as a tack, as they say. Already in my second year I was hand-picked by Professor Slughorn to be a part of his special group, a great honour, of course. I was delighted when, just before my second year, Lily also got an acceptance letter from Hogwarts. I was no longer the only one hated by our older sister, Petunia. We were always close, Lily and I, and very much alike. Had she not had a slightly redder shade of hair and been so curvy, we could have been twins.

And with her to Gryffindor tower came James Potter. Naturally, just a boy at the time, but in the years to come he grew in both size and confidence. . . not that there was ever much wrong with his confidence, I will give him that. I can see why he was so attracted to me. He clearly found me exciting, being a year older and possessing the Evans‚ spirit. It was partly this age difference that made us keep our relationship very private. That and the fact that I knew Lily was harbouring very secret feelings for James. I just couldn't hurt her with the knowledge of us. I loved her so very much. She was very sweet and naïve. And I swear it would have hurt her badly to know, because there was never a love like the one between me and James. He cherished me, and I remember he was a very quick learner himself when he needed to be. Our love blossomed during my sixth year and kept growing strong during my seventh. We, nonetheless, kept it very quiet. Rumours began circulating that he was dating dear little sister, but I chalked it up to misinformation, mistaken identity.

I think I was right in believing him when he said he would miss me when I left Hogwarts (short of completing my seventh year), and that he would stay true to me. But men can probably not help themselves, and it still makes me sad to think that he could not endure our separation as well as I could. Mother always said I had an unusually strong fortitude. Instead, I found out that he had gone behind my back and begun dating Lily after all at some point. I wasn't so surprised, even if very hurt, because she did take after me in so many aspects.

Lily was a fool too - I’m sorry to tell you - not to appreciate James. In my absence he became quite eager for her. All that silliness through the years before was merely horseplay, but he surely felt so deprived, he turned to the next best thing. Lily was too unsure of herself around men to know how to deal with him. Instead she kept rejecting him until she finally managed to give in to her girlish dreams. Oh, it still hurts so badly. If I could only have been there, who knew how to make the most of James! Although we met occasionally during his holidays and days off, he never spoke of my little sister and it was as though our love ignited all over again during these scarce hours. He was always supremely tender and adept during those fleeting times. I felt sorry for him, not being able to have me by his side and having to face unsure reactions of my sister, over and over again. It was so clear during our times together that he did not love her, that she was simply a substitute for me.

I had to leave England at one point, and clearly it became too much for my beloved. I still don’t know what he did to convince her, but somehow Lily had come around and accepted a more serious endeavor with him. When I came back, I had to endure all the sweet words of them being a couple. Lily, being so inexperienced, would probably have fallen head over heels for James. It’s even possible that she became so attached to him that she started providing him with a love potion. I wouldn't have put it past her.

Well, the two of them left school together and it was, of course, natural for them to come to me, seeing as Lily was my baby sister and we were the only witches of our family. James’ parents were both dead by then, so he came along with her. I’m quite sure he missed me dearly, and only agreed to go with her because of that great flame in his heart he held for me. We all got involved with the Order of the Phoenix (those misguided young people perhaps more so) and did some really outstanding work for it. Lily and James got married, but he proved to me over and over again that he was still deeply in love with me. It was not until after our first encounter with Voldemort that he decided to be true to her. Knowing my sister better than anyone else, I told him that it was best if she never found out, as she would certainly not forgive us. James agreed, and quite unceremoniously he ended things between us and, I will admit it, broke my heart at last. Their marriage was beautiful, but I was crying inside.

“Potter! What do you think you’re doing here at this time?”

Harry jumped slightly and looked up to face the abnormally large nose of Professor Snape. The man looked inordinately pleased to find his least favourite student in a place he should not really be.

“I'm just reading a letter. Sir,” he added quickly, remembering just what had caused the detention that still had his hands stinking of putrid Flobberworms.


As if reading his mind, Snape sneered and replied, “You are holding up the House-elves’ work. Five points from Gryffindor, and I suggest you remove yourself from this table or perhaps your hands will smell of something much worse tomorrow morning.”

Harry stood up and turned his back at the former Potions professor without a word. He was positive there was no school rule against spending the morning in the Great Hall, but he was not about to debate it with Snape either.

With the thoughts that were roaming his mind, he was surprised to find such a clear single conclusion that the common room was probably full of sixth- and seventh-year students by now, working or wasting away their free period. Instead he decided to head for Hermione’s domain. It was easy to find a secluded corner in the library, and after a quick glance around the shelves to make sure he was alone, he bent over the letter once more.

We shared the house in Godric's Hollow at the time, the three of us, and I could not leave just like that without making Lily suspicious. We were all working very awkward hours and for some reason, my sister often ended up on the night shifts, leaving your father and me alone in the flat. We tried to deny our feelings for what felt like an eternity, until the day I finally told him I was going to leave, that I could not take it anymore. We knew it was our last night together, perhaps that was why we were not so successful with the usual contraceptive charms. In my heart I knew it straight away that I had become pregnant. I pushed back my departure a little longer, waiting for proof of my condition. One silly plan after another formed and was dismissed in my head. I had thoughts of getting rid of the child, as well as leaving the country to raise it on my own. I was desperate for someone to confide in, so I went looking for one man I knew I could trust. We were old schoolmates. Once, Severus even confessed a bit of fancy for me. Back to the subject at hand, we met, he listened to my problems (I left out names, of course. I’m not a gossip like Petunia) and was more understanding than I could ever have hoped for. It was not until I told him when I had conceived that he looked troubled. If I thought that things had been complicated before, it was nothing compared to what would come after hearing his words.

He told me of a prophecy that had been made, that Professor Dumbledore had informed him of. A prophecy foreseeing a child being born to parents who had defied the Dark Lord at three times, a child who would have the power to forever destroy him. And this child was going to be born at the end of the seventh month. . .just like the baby I was carrying.

You may be wondering when I defied the Dark Lord thrice. Well, I certainly lived with dear Lily and my heart, James, long enough to be involved in umpteen moments of defiance.

Pretending to be worried for my sister, who could so obviously have been a mother of the said child in almost any other circumstance, I went to speak to my old Transfiguration Professor. He did nothing to calm my nerves. On the contrary, he also told me that the Dark Lord was supposed to somehow mark the child as his equal. You can understand now, how scared I was. The thought of Him coming after me (me!), simply because of an unborn child! How could I ever care for and protect such a being on my own? How was I supposed to survive? And even if I had wanted to at some point, there was just no way I could get rid of the unborn, as the child was the only one who could ever defeat the great Dark Lord. I realized that my only solution was to give the child to Lily and James, who could raise it and prepare it for what was to come. I decided to speak to James.

I did, of course, not mention the prophecy because I realized that no one would want a baby who brought such danger with it. I just told him that I was pregnant, that I did not wanted to remove it but knew I could never raise this little person on my own. He was shocked, and scared, and it was not hard to convince him that my plan was the only way out. He had to take care of it together with Lily, but she must think it was her own baby. James said this was impossible, but I already had everything figured out. The Evans sisters had always been talented at Potions, and I knew just of the one that would cause her a severe phantom pregnancy. I would brew it secretly and James would give it to her, and then I would go away before my own state was beginning to show. I would not return until the time had come for me to deliver, and then we would knock my little sister out (gently, of course) and give her the child when she woke up. It was all figured out, and that was how it happened.

I went away up north with the only company of a young Squib called Liz. She took care of me, if somewhat reluctantly. It was a hard time but I persisted, knowing that the fate of the whole Wizarding World was resting inside me. Let me tell you that you were not an easy burden to carry, both in terms of responsibility and of pain.

Liz and I Flooed to Godric's Hollow on the last of July that year. James made sure that Lily was fast asleep, but apart from that, he was useless. Liz helped me give birth and I will never forget the agony of it. They say that the birth of a magical child is easier, but if that is true I have no wish to find out how hard it is for Muggle women. You were born on Lily’s bed, and while I gathered myself, James and Liz cleaned up a bit but left
the bloody sheets for evidence. As I was getting ready to leave again, you were placed by her side. The scene before us was suddenly so idyllic, and I saw Liz shed a tear of joy. I looked over at James, and he looked back at me. I saw it shine through his eyes, the happiness over his son, over his wife who was sleeping safely on the bed. He saw that I was happy too, but he never knew that it was because of relief, that I was no longer responsible for the end of the world as we knew it. And during that moment, during the never-ending look we shared, I made up my mind. I could no longer go on living like this, and the first step of my new plan was completed by the time I left my sister’s house. James and Liz no longer knew that Lily was not the mother of the boy in her arms. I did not even leave you a name, they chose “Harry” for you. I have always liked the name Thomas; that is what I would have called you.

As for my next step, it’s not difficult for a skilled witch to stage her own death. The only problem is to make it believable. I succeeded, however, and wearing an Invisibility Cloak, I saw them all coming to my funeral, dressed in their best blacks. I could hardly believe my eyes when even my oldest sister, Petunia, turned up. I almost changed my mind when I saw them all, every person who would possibly remember me had turned up, and I realized that they all loved me. But there was no turning back, and when they were all gathered around what was supposed to be my body, I executed the last stage of my plan.

Have you ever heard of a charm called Ensconcia? It is very complicated in its various forms and only very few people know that it has ever been performed. It will force out the strongest thought within the target person’s mind, and this thought will gather to itself all the other memories and thoughts of a similar nature. With all these fragments gathered, you can remove yourself from their knowledge. Perhaps not totally. I was only able to dim that mass memory of me. It was quite a good job, and better than I’d ever read about. That was what I did, and by the time they left the funeral, they could not quite remember who had died. They only thought it was a friend of Lily’s. There were so many funerals in those days.

I spent several months erasing traces and memories of myself, but it was worth the effort. At long last I was free, free from the ongoing war and the burden of your prophecy, free from James’ unstable love. I left England and made my way over the continent where no worries existed and where I met my other great love, a man in a black leather jacket.

I was devastated to hear of the deaths of James, my old lover, and Lily, my baby sister. What hurt the most was probably the fact that I couldn't even go to their funeral, as it was very private and I was forgotten by everyone. This was of course also the reason why I couldn't ask to have you back. The Ensconcia spell is irreversible, so there was no possibility to convince anyone of my existence. I heard that you ended up with my older sister, the always-so-correct Petunia, and I knew that she would care for you. It was probably a lucky thing she thought you were Lily’s, as she had liked me even less.

I tried to move on with my own life with my European wizard, and in a way, I think I managed to repress my experiences in England. All until the day you began at Hogwarts.

There were so many newspaper articles from that year onwards. I know, because I have kept them all. I've followed you through the years and seen what a man you are growing into, how much you resemble your late father. You've got that same serious expression he used to flash at me when he was feeling particularly unsure. Oh, believe me when I say that James would have been proud of you. I don’t think that anyone knew him, or Lily, better than I did. If only I could have ceased being a person and become a glue of understanding instead, I would have used it to fix their relationship together to be the strongest the world had ever seen. Not that they weren't lovely together.

Larg (the one with the jacket that entranced me) left me a few years ago, like I think all men do to their women eventually. My only reason to go on, to live, has really been you. I know how you must struggle, of the pressure you must feel. It’s so like what I experienced myself all those years ago. Everyone’s time is growing short as your destiny is catching up with you, and I can no longer keep this truth within me. Because I don’t doubt that you do believe it now after reading all of this, when you have all the facts.

I know that it feels much easier for me now that I know you share my knowledge, and I’m convinced that even though it’s a harsh truth to be faced with -that your mother never was who you were told- that you prefer it to the illusions they have given you.

I hope this letter has found you in good health and that you are still fighting. My life and your life depend on it, as does the rest of the Wizarding World.

With much love,


Holly Evans


Harry let the last page fall onto his lap. He could not make out a single thought or emotion within himself, it was all so utterly confusing. Could this be true? Who was this woman?

He remained in the library with his disarray of thoughts for several hours, not becoming any wiser.


He was early for Professor Dumbledore’s lesson that evening, being tired of trying to avoid Ron and Hermione’s questions, he had left the common room as soon as he could. But upon speaking the password, the gargoyle sprung swiftly to the side at quarter to eight and the stairs carried him up to the office door. The Headmaster’s voice asked him to enter before he had even had time to knock upon the solid wood. A few rays of light were still finding their way into the office when he entered, and they set sparks reflecting off the various silver instruments, twinkling merrily in the rays of a dying sun.

“Harry,” Dumbledore smiled as the student took his seat. “Are you ready for our second lesson?”

“Yes, Professor. Or, well, that is to say - I've got something I would like you to look at first, if it’s all right.” Harry fumbled with his robe pockets and pulled out the stuffed envelope.

“Now, what might this be?” Dumbledore asked and reached out his undamaged hand to fetch it.

“I got it with the morning mail today. There’s some odd stuff in there,” Harry nodded towards the letter, “and I’m not sure what to believe.”

The white-bearded wizard nodded thoughtfully, pulled out all the pages and started reading immediately. Harry noticed quite soon the speed with which his Headmaster could read, but it still took him quite some time to go through all the confusing words. The sun had long since disappeared behind the mountains, and Dumbledore’s half-moon spectacles had slid down to the very tip of his nose, before he looked up.

“I must say Harry, that this is quite a remarkable story.” He put the letter down on his desk and pushed the glasses back up his crooked nose.

Harry waited for the Headmaster to continue, but the old man seemed lost in thought. Impatient for an answer he spoke, “Do you think it could be true, Sir?”

“I cannot give a fair answer to that. I have searched my memories for the faintest trace of a Holly Evans, but found nothing. Although if this letter speaks the truth I would, of course, not have been able to.”

“What about that spell she mentioned, Sir? Is there such a thing?” Harry continued.

“Oh yes. However, it is a very complicated one. It is difficult in timing and concentration - and to perform it on all the original Order members, myself included, would have required some definite skill.” Dumbledore paused and nodded towards the parchment. “But if we were to believe this woman, she certainly appears very able.” Dumbledore’s left eyebrow lifted only slightly.

Harry nearly snorted but quickly became serious again. “What do you think I should do, Professor?”

He was answered with a question in return, “What do you wish to do, Harry?”

“Er,” Harry had to admit to himself that he had not thought about that yet. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if I even want her to exist.”

“If I may say so, I believe that the days when you were in great need of a parent are gone. Even if this Holly Evans turned out to be real, I get the impression that her acquaintance would not benefit you. I will leave it for you to decide if you wish to believe this letter, but remember that it could just as likely have been an attempt from someone to confuse and unsettle you. My advice would be for you to let this pass for now, as I think we both agree that there are more pressing matters at hand?”

Harry nodded and accepted the letter back. He pocketed it and looked back at Dumbledore, expecting him to commence with the lesson, but the Headmaster was yet again gazing into nothingness. Harry did not need Legilimency skills to know what was distracting his thoughts.

“Professor?”

Dumbledore’s eyes refocused quickly. “I’m sorry Harry. I think we need to cancel tonight’s lesson as we both have other matters on our minds. Perhaps you would be willing to return in two nights time?”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, feeling a little relieved.

“Good. Let us say eight o’clock again. The password will be the same.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Sir,” he stood up and felt the weight of the thick envelope in his robe pocket.

“Goodnight, Harry,” the headmaster replied.

Harry glanced back before he closed the door behind him. Dumbledore was already staring unseeingly through the high windows.

Deep in thought, he slowly made his way back to the Gryffindor tower. He passed several students rushing to get back to their common rooms before curfew, but was too distracted to greet any of them. A staircase moved conveniently for him, but he barely noticed.

His mentor was right of course. There were more important things going on than this letter which was probably just written by a Death Eater anyway. It was just too unbelievable. And even if she was real, why would he want anything to do with a woman who gave him up? Who was a selfish coward? What would he ever say to her, apart from harsh words and accusations? No, she could not possibly exist, and he would do his best to forget about her.

Feeling light and content with his decision, Harry approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, waiting patiently for her to pause in her gossip with the painting next to her. It was not until he was about to give her the password that the thought struck him.

How on earth could the writer have known the whole Prophecy?