“Lily! Lily, come in here. You’ve got to hear this!�

Red hair tangled and falling in your face, you lurch into a sitting position, your hand automatically flying for your wand. Looking around through bleary eyes, you stumble to your feet, the willow wand held in a defensive pose before you.

“C’mon, Lily! You’re going to miss it!�

You relax as your sleep-fogged mind processes the tone of James’ voice. He sounds excited. Wondering what is so important that it can’t wait until after you’ve retrieved last night’s lost sleep, you tuck your wand into your pocket and jog down the stairs, yawning.

“What is it, James?�

James is sitting on the floor in the living room with Harry in his lap, surrounded by a scattered crowd of toys. Harry is giggling, his tiny hands buried in James’ hair. James turns slightly to look up at you, and you see the broad grin on his face.

“Listen to him, Lily! Listen!�

There is a long minute of silence, then James makes a face and Harry squeals, “Dadadadadada!�

A smile creeps over your face and you sit down next to James. “Izzat Dada, Harry?� you say in the baby voice you swore to never use when you found out you were pregnant. “Yeah, that’s Dada!� Harry graces you with a one-toothed smile and you sweep him into your arms, laughing.

Harry tolerates the hug for just a moment before he squirms out of your grip and crawls off after a stuffed Hippogriff. You turn to look at James and find him raising his eyebrows at you.

“What?� you ask.

“I win.�

You roll your eyes. “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, Potter.�

“He said my name first. I win.�

James is grinning now, gloating. The git. You turn to watch Harry, ignoring your husband’s obnoxious expression.

“Just wait,� you say confidently. “He’ll be saying my name within the week.�

***

You can’t stop laughing as you watch Harry devour his first ever piece of cake. It’s all over his face, his hands, his stomach… He’ll definitely be getting a bath later. But for now, he’s a happy, dirty baby, smiling up at you and James and Bathilda, completely unaware of the significance of this day, the reason he’s getting this heretofore unheard-of treat.

He shoves another handful of cake into his mouth and begins mashing it with his tiny teeth. He has seven of them now. You can hardly believe that your baby is getting so big. As of today he’s not even a baby anymore, but a toddler, according to the stack of books about parenting on the floor beside your bed upstairs. A giggle escapes you as you realize his hair – thick and dark and all over the place, like his father’s – has frosting in it.

“Dadadadada!� he yells triumphantly, banging his hands on the tray of his high chair. Out of the corner of your eye, you see James’ smirk, but you ignore it as you begin to wipe your son’s face. Harry still hasn’t said anything that could even be mistaken as your name. You’ve said it to him a million times, over and over, whenever James wasn’t looking, for months, but still “Dadadada� is all he ever says.

“Come on, little man,� you say as you hoist him out of his chair and onto your hip. “Mummy’s taking you to get a bath.�

“Dadadada!� he shrieks and claps his hands, smiling.

***

Harry makes an adorable pumpkin, you think as you watch him swaying on his feet, clutching James’ thumbs, trying to walk across the living room. He’s wearing the costume Bathilda bought him, despite the fact that your situation means you can’t take him outside your front door, let alone out to bob for apples. He’s not old enough for apples anyway, you say to yourself, trying to shake off the feeling that you’ll never leave this house again, that this war will never end.

“Come on, Harry! You can do it. Come to Mummy!� you call, forcing a smile and holding your arms out to him. Harry’s face, previously scrunched with concentration, lights up. Smiling straight into your eyes, he lets go of his father and reaches out for you. You feel a thrill of excitement as he toddles toward you without help. Just a step away from you, he stumbles and falls into your arms, giggling. You pull him in and hold him close, breathing in the sweet soapy smell of him for a moment. Just before he pulls away, you press a quick kiss on his forehead and whisper, “Mummy loves you, Harry.�

Looking up, you grin at James.

“I win.�

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about,� he says, archly.

“Harry walked to me first. I... win.� You emphasize the last word to let James know that you consider this triumph to be above that of having Harry say his name first.

James shakes his head. “You know what you are, Lily?�

“What’s that?�

“A sore loser,� he says, teasing. “You’re still jealous that he says my name and doesn’t say yours.�

Standing, you give James a wicked smile. “I’ll show you sore!�

Harry laughs, watching intently as you rugby-tackle his father.

“Dadadada!� he says cheerfully as James lands in front of him with a thump.

***

Harry finishes his milk and you pass him over to James. Walking to the kitchen, you add his bottle to the stack of dirty dishes and set them washing with a swish of your wand. There’s a rumbling sound from the vicinity of your stomach, so, setting down your wand, you rummage around until you find an apple then eat it while you peruse the obituary section of the Daily Prophet. Basil Whetherby, a Ravenclaw from your year in school. Susan Scotts, a Hufflepuff from two years above you. John Stimps, Marlene’s old boyfriend...

It’s been more than a month since her death, but you still cringe at the thought of Marlene. You can’t stand the fact that she’s gone, that you can’t expect her face to appear in the fire, nor her curly, almost illegible handwriting in the mail, anymore.

Sighing, you look up at the clock and realise it’s half an hour past Harry’s bedtime.

Walking back into the living room, you smile and shake your head when you find the air full of red and gold smoke. James is already trying to bias Harry to Gryffindor.

“It’s past Harry’s bedtime, James. Pass him to me, please.�

James bends and grabs your son, who is giggling fit to burst, and tucks him into your arms.

As you carry Harry into the hall and up the stairs, he pushes away from you to look up into your eyes, a toothy grin on his face. You touch your nose to his as you reach the top stair and smile down at him. He lets out a giggle and then, “Mumumumumuhhh!�

Stunned, you stand there, staring down into his eyes, identical to your own.

“James –�

There’s a crash as the door flies open.

***

“Mumumuhhh!�

“I’m not your Mum. Now, be quiet and eat your food.�

“Muhmuhhhh... Mumuhhmuhhhh!�

“Eat it now, or don’t eat!�

“Mumumuhh!�

Harry’s large green eyes are shining with tears. Petunia is glaring down at him, spoon in hand. She’s trying to feed him the one food he ever disliked, but she doesn’t know it. He’d probably take it anyway, if it were you feeding him. She’s annoyed because he won’t stop saying your name. She doesn’t realize how long it took him to say it.

You clench your fists, wondering how much more of this you can take. But you keep watching.

“Mummy loves you, Harry,� you whisper, tears of frustration on your face. He doesn’t hear it. He can’t hear it.

***

Days, months, years pass and you watch in agony as your son is neglected, unloved and humiliated by your sister; as he is yelled at, starved and abused by her husband; as he is poked, punched and blamed by their son.

And now that beast of Marge’s has chased him up a tree. You watch him shiver, clinging to the branch. He’s been up here for hours, and you can tell his arms are getting tired. You know he cannot feel it, that it won’t help, but you wrap your arms around him, place your hands over his. Perhaps... perhaps though he cannot feel it physically, he can sense it, somehow. You have to believe that, somehow, your love for him supports him, even though your arms cannot.

It’s like coming in and out of consciousness, this, you think as you watch the years go by. Sometimes you are awake, in the real world, in pain and helpless; sometimes you slip away to a comfortable place where time has no meaning and life feels like dreaming. But Harry is always waiting in the real world, and it is Harry that always brings you back.

You watch as Harry learns to speak kind words despite never hearing them; as he learns compassion though he is never shown it. You are there as he finally learns he is a wizard; as he is given his wand; as he meets his first friend. You are there for all the important moments, and many of the unimportant ones as well. Perhaps you have been given special licence to visit him so often because you are his mother. James cannot travel between the realms as easily as you can, though he tries, frequently. He is there, grinning, as Harry is sorted into your old house. He is there for Harry’s first flight, whooping as he catches his friend’s Remembrall and pulls out of the dive with ease.

Both of you are watching as Harry receives James’ old cloak; as he first uses it; as he finds the mirror. There’s a lump in your throat as he looks into the glass and meets your eyes for the first time since you died. You wave and smile at your son, hoping he can see the love in your eyes; the mirror has made you visible to him, but not audible.

You cannot tear your eyes away from him as he looks at you. It feels so good to be seen, if only as a reflection. To know that he knows you are there. The tears you feel on your cheeks do not come as a surprise.

“Mum.�

He says it with his voice full of awe, and you smile and cry harder. He has not seen you since the night he first said it, but still, despite the years, despite everything, he knows you. He knows your name.