Novel & Cerita James Potter Lily Potter

"What were their names?" "You don't need to—" "Their names, Sophie." "Lily Morrison and James Chen." Sophie sat beside me, her healing warmth trying to ease my emotional pain. "Lily was fifteen. James had just turned sixteen." I memorized their names, added them to the growing list of people I'd failed—either by action or inaction, by saving or not saving, by being too harsh or too merciful. The gold threads in my phoenix fire dimmed, weighted down by each name, each face, each choice that had led to death.

"Ah, Professor, but remember what I said about how witchcraft differs from magecraft? Intent is the key here. Her intent of sacrificing herself that night, so that her son could be protected was enough for magic to accept it. She must have offered herself in place of her son's death. And when she was killed, her life force was used to fuel the protection. And that protection is something that is still active on you to this day, Mr. Potter. Even in death, Lily Potter is still protecting her son." The boy couldn't hold back at that anymore, and some tears started to roll from his eyes. Professor McGonagall was affected by that too and couldn't resist anymore. She pulled the boy to her and gave

Lily The full moon was coming, and Lily had run out of ideas. She’d tried everything she could over the last three days. She’d tried to sabotage Peverton’s supply hunts, distracting him when she’d spotted a Nether Toad he’d said he’d needed or crushing nettles beneath her heel, rendering them useless for the spell.

“Are you gonna make my mama happy?” James looked at me, panicked, then back at Lily. “I’m gonna try, kid. Every day. If she’ll let me.” Lily considered this. Then she nodded and pressed a paper flower into his hand. “Okay. But if you hurt her I’ll tell Miss Amina and she’ll ban you from cupcakes forever.” James looked like he might cry. “Fair deal. I don’t want to be banned from cupcakes.” After Lily fell asleep with fever and James’s paper flower under her pillow, I stood in the kitchen with my arms around his waist. “You didn’t have to say that to her.”

The lens would zoom in and out on animals, plants, and the sky. "Lily-kins, are you ready for today?" Dad asks. The only person to call me Lily-kins was mom. It was the nickname she blessed me with. Dad is using it now to see if I am ready to talk at her funeral. In many ways, sharing a poem at her funeral is more complicated than facing Kelly in a courtroom full of people.

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