The summer Harry turned eleven was the hottest in years. Potter Manor's wards kept the air cool inside, but the training hall still steamed with effort. Lily watched her son move through the forms she had taught him—judo throws that ended with invisible opponents slamming into padded mats, ju-jutsu locks twisted with precise cruelty, taekwondo kicks snapping high and fast. He had started with the basics at five, clumsy but determined. She had chosen the styles carefully: judo for leverage and control, ju-jutsu for joint breaks and ground fighting, taekwondo for distance and speed, wing chun for close-quarters efficiency, krav maga for raw survival—elbows to throats, knees to groins, no rules, no mercy. Competition forms like karate points-sparring she skipped entirely. These were for killing or disabling, nothing else.
Harry finished a sequence, breathing hard, sweat darkening his shirt. His face was flushed, eyes bright with the rush. Lily nodded once, approval clear in the small curve of her mouth.
"Good. Again. Slower this time. Feel the break before you commit."
He obeyed without complaint. The boy never complained.
Occlumency and legilimency came in the evenings, when the light through the library windows turned gold. They sat facing each other on the rug, knees almost touching. Lily's voice was soft but relentless.
"Close it off. Everything. Let me in only where you want."
Harry's brow furrowed. He was ten now, tall for his age, shoulders already broadening. When her probe brushed his mind, his jaw tightened. He pushed back—gentle at first, then firm. After months of this, the barriers held like stone. Legilimency reversed the game. Harry's eyes narrowed in concentration as he slipped past her surface thoughts—images of breakfast, the lake, a book she had read last night. Deeper, and she let him see a memory of James laughing, just enough to reward progress. By the end of that summer, words formed between them without sound. Clear. Instant. Distance didn't matter.
Harry's face lit up the first time it worked across the manor grounds. He had been practicing kicks in the dueling hall; she was in the greenhouse. His voice bloomed in her mind, quiet and wondering.
Mama?
She straightened from the mandrakes, smiling wide enough her cheeks hurt.
Yes, love.
Elemental work came next. No wands—Lily insisted. Fire first: palms open, heat building until flames danced above his fingers, shaped into spheres, then whips, then walls that roared without burning the floor. Water from the lake rose in coils at his call, freezing to razor ice or crashing in waves. Wind lifted him off the ground in controlled bursts, letting him hover, then glide. Earth answered slower—boulders lifted, ground split and resealed.
Telekinesis started with feathers, moved to books, then to the grand piano in the east parlor. Harry's expression was pure focus, tongue caught between teeth, until the massive instrument rose smoothly and settled again without a scrape.
Apparition broke all rules. Lily taught coordinates from memory—London rooftops, Parisian alleys, desert dunes under foreign stars. Silent. Undetectable. No splinch. Harry's first solo jump was to the manor roof; he landed laughing, hair wild from wind.
Lily watched it all with quiet pride, but her mind never rested. Evenings alone in the study, she spread newspapers and compelled reports. Sirius Black had never gone after Pettigrew—grief had broken him instead. He had confessed, been cleared quietly when evidence failed, and left Britain with Remus Lupin. Somewhere warm, the reports hinted. Good. Fewer complications.
The Hogwarts letter arrived in early July, slipping through a ward Lily had left open for it. Thick parchment, green ink.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Ray,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
The second parchment listed:
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Draughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
Harry read it twice, eyes wide. Lily's smile was soft, almost sad.
"Time to see the world, love."
His birthday came at the end of July—quiet, perfect. Breakfast in bed: pancakes stacked high, bacon crisp, fresh strawberries from the greenhouse. Gifts wrapped in silver paper: new training robes, a set of ancient spellbooks on silent casting, a small silver knife enchanted never to dull.
The familiar chose him that afternoon.
A snowy owl landed on the library windowsill while they read together. Pure white, eyes amber and fierce. She hooted once, tilted her head at Harry, and refused to leave. He reached out slowly; she stepped onto his arm without hesitation.
"Hedwig," he said, voice hushed. Lily watched his face—wonder, joy, something protective already forming.
The bonding happened naturally over the next days: shared hunts in the grounds, Hedwig bringing him gifts of mice (politely declined), sleeping on his bedpost.
Lily's familiar came a week later—a sleek black cat with green eyes that appeared during a storm, soaked and yowling at the kitchen door. She dried it by the fire, and it curled in her lap, purring deep. "Shadow," she named it, fingers stroking soft fur.
The month between birthday and September stretched sweet and slow. Mornings training—martial forms sharper, elemental control finer, apparition drills across continents. Afternoons reading new books, brewing simple potions side by side. Evenings walking the lake, Hedwig gliding overhead, Shadow weaving between their legs.
Harry's face grew thoughtful sometimes, staring at the water. Lily let him have the silence.
Diagon Alley came mid-August.
Disguised—Lily as Lillian Ray, tall brunette healer with warm smile; Harry as Evan, brown hair tamed, hazel eyes bright, athletic frame hidden under loose robes.
Ollivander's first. The old man measured, tapes fluttering. Wands tried and rejected—sparks, smoke, one that set a shelf alight. Finally: yew and dragon heartstring, twelve inches, supple. Power surged clean and strong. Ollivander's eyes narrowed.
"Curious… a wand that chooses with such certainty."
Books next: Flourish and Blotts crowded, but they moved easy. Standard texts piled high, plus extras—defensive wards, silent casting, creature lore. Harry's fingers lingered on Advanced Potion-Making; Lily added it without comment.
Cauldron pewter, phials crystal, scales brass—best quality.
Clothes from Elysian Threads, a new French-run shop tucked in a side alley. Robes finer than Malkin's: self-fitting black wool, subtle warming charms, pockets expanded, fabric resistant to spills and minor curses. Harry tried a set; it settled perfect, light as air. Lily bought multiples—school, casual, formal.
Hedwig's cage gilded, perch enchanted comfortable.
No one looked twice.
Back home, final days slipped away. Packing trunk: books neat, robes folded, wand secure. Hedwig preened in her cage.
September 1 dawned crisp.
King's Cross bustled, but they moved calm. Platform 9¾ steamed with scarlet engine.
On the platform, Lily pulled Harry into a hug. He was taller than her shoulder now, strong arms wrapping tight. Her face pressed to his hair; his cheek against her neck.
"Be safe," she whispered, voice thick.
He nodded, throat working. "I'll write. Every day."
Hedwig hooted softly from the trolley.
The whistle blew. Harry boarded, found an empty compartment near the back, stowed trunk and cage. Sat by the window, watching her stand there—hand raised, green eyes shining—until the train pulled away and she vanished in steam.
He leaned back, staring at passing fields. Hogwarts. New faces. Power hidden. Plans forming slow and sure.
The compartment door slid open.
A girl stepped in—silver-blonde hair, cool blue eyes, posture perfect. She paused, looking at him.
"May I sit?"