For The One Who Will Survive It All

He stared at the letter, the elegant script that scattered the envelope that encased it and had done so for so many years, trying not to disbelieve the fact that it existed. That it was truly for him, not some practical joke from a school-time enemy or a cruel joke from a now dead Voldemort. The writing was beautiful, and once again he wondered why the writer had insisted it be left with Snape for safekeeping.

He opened it with trembling fingers, hoping with every fibre of his being that it was not a false, not a fake, not a forgery, not...untrue. That it was real, substantial and tangible. That his beloved mother, whom he had never known, had written this to him, with her own hands and her own thoughts. Yellow parchment slid smoothly out of the old envelope, which had been kept perfect with a potion, Snape had told him, but not the contents. He had not wanted to invade her privacy.

For the one who will survive it all

Tears welled up, and he could barely stop himself from sobbing painfully before he had even read the letter. It was not fair, not fair at all that his mother had been robbed from him so young. He had lamented this loss, complained and grumbled, ever since he knew the truth. He unfolded the parchment, holding his sobs back.

July 31st, 1980

Dearest Harry,

You are my pride and joy. Even in these dark times, you can still coax smiles out of James. We are obscured from the world, from our friends and family. All we have is each other. I apologize once again for you having to live in these circumstances. But Peter will not betray us. But we shall soon be free again.

He almost screamed indignantly at that line, yelling hysterically at the window. He wanted to shriek into her ears that they had trusted the wrong person, that they had been wrong, that they had sent an innocent man into Azkaban for twelve years, but could not bring himself to.

I write this letter in case of any betrayal, that you might know why you will live. Do you know how powerful love is? Even Love potions cannot induce that type of truth, because true love is greater than any magic there could ever be. I dare say you know the story of Merlin, and how he fell to the witch he loved. And this love that James and I hold for you shall give you life, as we did more than one year ago.

He smiled at this. Dumbledore had told him his theories on why he had survived, but had never told him the true reasons. This morning, after the fogs of war had finally cleared, he had received this letter, mysteriously, slid under the door. Somehow, his roommates (or what was left of the four friends who had shared his beloved room for so long) had known it was for him. The age of the parchment and the elegant writing (which definitely did not resemble Molly Weasley´s rounded print) had proven it, he supposed. Ron had surreptitiously left it on his still dozing stomach, with a note to "read it as soon as possible".

A long time ago, magic was much more potent and great, especially in witches and wizards. Love was a powerful type of old magic, so great that it could bring others back to life. Today, our magic appears to be diluted and decreasing. Voldemort believes that Muggle blood is the reason. It is not. Half-bloods can hold just as much magic within them, as Voldemort himself has proved.

Blood. It was how the war came about, and how the war ended. It had come to a final ending when he had killed the Dark Lord. No one could survive on another´s blood for long. It would mean he became a magical clone, someone who had to feed on another for survival. Voldemort became dependent on him. And he had sustained any injuries he would have, taken any energy he would acquire from food, and so on. It had been hard finding out he had a connection to the Dark Lord that gave him his talent to speak Parseltongue in second year, but knowing he had a blood connection was worse.

He had stabbed himself. Being branded with Dark Magic, Voldemort could not be healed, but Madam Pomfrey had closed up the wound easily once his scar stopped hurting. Snape had given him a potion that was designed to apply only to him, and him alone. It was to delay death.

Strange, how the war was won with such a simple act.

No one knows precisely why magic in us became more and more diluted, but I believe it was because of greedy wizards who devoured the magic of others. Their bodies could not handle the excessive power, and eventually exploded with the strain. The ones who were left had less magic. That is why we all use wands today, I suppose. Even the Muggle-borns are endowed with lesser magic, because they ultimately descend from the squibs a few hundred years ago. And you are one of the most powerful to appear in this century.

Why so? The Ministry sent representatives to our home immediately after your birth, many months ago, to check your talents. The Potters are an old pureblood family, and they were probably worried about the Muggle-born blood infusion...I am grinning stupidly, and your father looks over at me with that puzzled expression. I suppose I should continue. When they sent a Charm into you to track any talents you might have, you emitted white light. If you studied your Charms correctly, you should know that nothing like that has ever happened before. It was erased from the Ministry records, but somehow, through his spy, presumably, Voldemort found out. It was that day we found out you were more special than we ever thought. That is why he is after you, and your father. He probably thinks that Potter blood is special. Arthur Weasley already has six sons, and none of them emitted any special light except for Ronald. Sweet little child that he is, we never expected him to be endowed with the Eye. Poor boy, a Seer. Like Arthur Weasley blocked his abilities until he was old enough to know, I wished I could block yours too. But there is no way, but to hide.

Ron had found out about his gift a year ago, when an unexpected vision of Snape almost getting killed prompted him to inform the Headmaster. It came true, but thanks to his warning, the surly professor was saved from near death. Time and time again he had saved him, he thought. He had saved many with his uncannily accurate vision, and ever since Trelawney´s death...He smiled. His friend was becoming Professor for Divination and was frantically trying to redecorate in his last days of school.

Sirius insisted that Peter become Secret-Keeper, and we agreed. He will not betray us, but I still feel this little nagging instinct inside that tells me not to trust him. Years later, of course, we may be reading this very letter and laughing our heads off. Or you may be crying with the tears I weep on this letter. We are trapped in a contact-less environment. I am glad at least I have you and your father with me. I can only feel pity for those who are alone. We have our love for each other. It will be enough. Love is ancient magic, as I have already mentioned. The strongest kind.

I have cast a spell on you, a bond of sorts. James does not know of it. They call it the Phylacterium Quovis Charm. An amulet, created out of true love, that will follow you wherever you go. It will be branded on your very skin, old magic that will be with you for the rest of your life. It repels all Dark magic. I have cast it such that it will activate if I give my life for yours. Do not be bitter. I give this protection that you might live, and one day make the world free, for before Ronald Weasley´s Eye was temporarily blinded, he showed me a vision. Albeit unconscious, it was clear enough. I saw you with a man in a purple turban, clinging and the man was crumbling; screaming. I feared for your life at that very moment. This is why the spell was cast.

He should have known. Albus Dumbledore had given him a preview of what was the truth in his first year, when he had mentioned his mother´s sacrifice saving him and giving him a shield against Darkness. An amulet of love. He almost laughed with the irony of the former paragraph he had just read. Indeed, he would be shedding tears on this very same sheet of parchment as his mother had once done in worry for their fate and his. And Ron had been the one, indirectly, to help him live. He would thank him for that later, he reminded himself. He sniffled, closing his eyes. The letter was ending even though he did not want it to. He wanted to keep the memory of his mother´s words a little longer. Perhaps, by the time he was finished with this letter he would have the words down by heart, for it was one of the few things he had left of his parents.

I have entrusted this letter to Severus, that he may keep it safe even if the world turns Dark and Voldemort wins this battle. It is but temporary, for I know you will defeat him, together with all the friends you shall make in the future. I have asked him to hand this to you when Voldemort falls, at last. I have written this that you might know your gift and the reason you lived, if I do not survive. You are charmed, my beloved son (pardon me the pun) and will live through everything.

Know that I and your father love you very much, more than life itself. We would gladly give our lives for you. And as I have stated previously, do not feel guilty. Life is a fragile thing, a gift that we have given you twice over. Live free and happy, and never forget joy and bravery. Remember our love; that is all I ask. Sirius will take good care of you if we go. Forgive us, if we are not by your side when you read this. You are grown now, a young man whom I am proud to call my son. May you find your very own great love, like I have found your father.

Your mother,

Lily Evans Potter

He hugged the letter tightly to his chest, the tears flowing freely now. How he wished that his mother had been around herself to tell him those words, to teach him the lessons of life instead of him having to learn by twisting Dudley´s behaviour around? It was not fair, not at all. His tears turned into wracking sobs that hurt his throat and eyes as he whimpered for the parents he would never know. He traced the scar that had been left as a memento on that terrible night. It would never pulse with pain again, for the other end of the connection had been eternally severed. He had fulfilled his destiny, as his mother had hoped.

He touched his fingers to the leather-bound photo album, now worn and dirty from many flips through it. A gift he had treasured like his life for the past few years he had had it. The Lily and James in the picture smiled back at him, and the yearning for his parents grew stronger. He would be brave, he smiled in return at the parents who weren´t, as his mother would have wanted him to be. He wiped the tears from his face, mustering a smile. He would go on, as he had all these years.

But the hope would never be extinguished, for deep within Harry Potter´s heart, he still cried for the love he would never know.