𝙇𝙚 𝙋𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙩 𝙋𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚

:a mother's devotion:

Lily Potter was a woman, wife, witch—-but above all else she was a mother. She would fight with her wand, fists and even teeth to protect what is hers. Harry was her child. Maybe half of him was James—she couldn't deny that, but he came out of her body, and her flesh. It was an intimate thing that only she shared with her baby. All mothers could feel this. James Potter would never be able to claim the same. Hell, Lily would be freaked out if he told her he could even become pregnant.

She gave birth to Harry after housing him in her body united as one flesh for nine months.That connection of theirs hadn't faded once he was born. It remained as strong as ever and even grew stronger, just as every maternal connection should. He was still very much a part of her as he was for the duration of her pregnancy. It terrified her to suddenly see her baby spasm into a state of pure terror where not even her voice could bring him back to reality. Her voice. His mother's own voice!

Lily had never felt more helpless in her life.

Not when her friendship with Severus began to unravel, when he was pulled further away into the dark beyond the reach of her desperation and pleas. Nor when her own sister began to reject her and grow distant until all that remained between them was one sided longing and bitter loathing and jealousy.

She screamed.

"James!" Lily had cried, alarmed and distraught. "James it's Harry!" She sobbed as her husband stormed into the room. Concern on his own face for both his wife and son.

"H-he just started hyperventilating and then p-passed out!" She shrieked, clutching Harry's unconscious form. "J-James I—-!"

James worked quickly and calmed his wife and ensured Harry's state of wellbeing. Letting out a sigh of relief when the results of his diagnostic spell came back that his son was stable.

Responsibility weighing on both their backs to ensure their son would live to adulthood. They loved Harry more than life itself and would protect him with vicious ferocity. Both were stubbornly intent to shield him from the danger. Wishing with all their beings that Harry could grow up a normal child with a peaceful childhood. They hated the terror. All because a madman marked their son as a potential threat. Their son. The bastard wanted to kill Harry.

Lily was consoled by her husband's presence and stood. Harry's sleeping form now held protected and warm in his mother's arms.

The two shared a meaningful look.

"Not Harry." She whispered as his eyes met hers.

"Not our Harry." He agreed with a soft yet fierce conviction.

They were barely adults themselves. Both were of age, but neither a true adult. Twenty one, young, and living in fear for not only their own lives but their son's. They were only three years older than Regulus mentally. They were children fighting a war beyond them. It wasn't right. It wasn't even good, but it was the truth. And it did a lot more than hurt.

Lily knew the world would not be kind to her. She was a mudblood, and proud of it! She could deal with her small acts of defiance. She'd yell to the world to bring it on if she could...she couldn't. Lily had something more than pride and blood to fight for now. She had to fight for family. The stakes were higher. She had to survive for family. No one would ever harm a hair on her son's head. No one would touch her family and live free of the consequences.

Lily poured herself into her work.

Every morning she'd read, and read, and read. Book after book, manuscript after manuscript. She tore through ancient scrolls hungrily as she searched for the knowledge she needed. She hadn't found it, yet, but she'd never give up trying.

She'd write her findings on parchment after parchment until her quill tip broke and her wrist was sore. Then she'd switch to muggle pens and continue on her work. She couldn't openly fight against him so she'd do whatever she could to oppose him.

Voldemort could come and kill her today, or tomorrow, but she'd curse him with every ounce of maternal conviction and wrath she could. If she died—which was a very realistic fear and possibility, one she was open to but not necessarily accepting of, then she wanted Voldemort to suffer ever threatening her son.

Hell hath no fury like a mother scorn.

Lily Potter, née Evans spent every day researching. And every day of research she conducted was another battle fought. The result of her success would tell the tale of her victory or not.

She practically drowned herself in rune work. Had she not had James to support her Lily knew she might've truly done just that. Still no matter how hard she looked, she could not find a rune for love.

She pursed her lips, too stubborn to admit defeat. Fine. There was no rune for love. But her old potions professor had once called her the brightest witch of her generation and for good reason. She'd do what no one could for centuries...

She'd create her own rune.

Not even the impossible would get into the way of a mother's love, wrath, and devotion.