12/6/2016
Disclaimer: The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, including the characters of Lily and James Potter, belong to their creator, J.K. Rowling. I own none of it and merely express my opinion of it. And thank you to Emmyjean of The Hidden Tower for allowing me to mention her and her fanfic Crossroads in this post.
This isn’t a book review, more of a free-write essay that’s humming through my veins. I burned myself out a bit the last couple of months and needed some time away from reading (something I almost never say), but now it’s tentatively trickling back–that urge, almost an ache, inside me that propels me to escape reality, to open my mind to endless possibilities, discover boundless new worlds, and meet fascinating new friends.
I have to have read hundreds of books, but there are several that clutch my heart so firmly in their pages that I can’t help but revisit them now and again. It’s like catching up with an old friend who’d drifted away, and in the course of conversation you remember why you’d been so close at one time. Some of them–such as Saving Grace by Julie Garwood or Birthright by Nora Roberts–have happy endings, which I much prefer. Others, however, contain such tragedy and emotional horror that I truly hate how much I love them. One example is Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. I’ve reread it–or at least my favorite parts, it’s a big book–dozens of times, but I refuse to reread the rest of the series, because these poor people have such terrible things happen to them–recurringly; I mean Jesus, did they bulldoze a house of mirrors in their past lives or what?–that I just cannot stand to witness their heartache. It echoes inside my own heart too keenly, and I figure the real world has too much misery already. I don’t want to encounter it in my attempt to escape it. But sometimes it’s unavoidable–sometimes great books are only great because their characters have rotten luck.
Enter Harry Potter. Yeah, they’re kids’ books–though I’m sure millions of adults would care to argue–but they’re pretty dark for children’s books. I mean, they take place in the middle of a war. Beloved characters die. Those books resonate with all ages, and I was quite obsessed with the lore myself–God, ten years ago. Jesus, time fucking flies. Anyway, my interest has waned in recent years since the eighth and final movie was released and the Wizarding World began to fade into the background of pop culture. Now the brilliant mastermind of the series, J.K. Rowling, is firing on all cylinders again, this time writing a series of film scripts based in her Wizarding World but set in the early twentieth century during the rise of dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald. It’s a plot she glanced over when she revealed a bit of Dumbledore’s background within the Harry Potter series. I mention this because the first film of her planned five-part series was released in theatres a few weeks ago–Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them—and I watched it on the silver screen the other day. (It was pretty good–not super exciting to Muggles but riveting if you’re into that sort of thing.) That circumstance is perhaps partially responsible for my revisiting the bittersweet storyline that I hate to love most–not the countless angsty trials and triumphs of Harry Potter himself…but the tragic romance of his parents, Lily and James Potter.
Their history is glimpsed largely through the memories of those who had known them during the short time they were alive, stories recounted for Harry’s benefit. Lily Evans and James Potter entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the same year. Lily, despite being born to a non-magic family, was the brightest witch of her age, and likely one of the brightest witches to have ever passed through Hogwarts, or so I inferred. James, descended from a long line of purebloods, was the whole package–very handsome, very rich, very intelligent, and extremely talented. However, they both had their flaws. Lily was known to be uncommonly kind–perhaps to a fault, believing in the goodness and loyalty of friends who ultimately betrayed her. James’ flaw was on the other end of the spectrum–he was a bully, arrogant, obnoxious, and proud.
Not much is known about their first few years at school, but I like to imagine they’d always had something of a bantering back-and-forth relationship, challenging each other’s wits. By their fifth year in school, James had taken a fancy to “Evans,” as he called her, and nagged her to go out with him relentlessly, often publically. He couldn’t resist making a fool of himself whenever she was around, and I believe he’d even cause mischief on purpose to get her attention, as she was one of the rare, unimpressed few who dared stand up to him. Lily didn’t hate him, didn’t even really dislike him, but she absolutely and thoroughly disapproved of his behavior (I would, too; he was a cocky little fuck at that point) and didn’t consent to date him until their seventh and final year, after something (unspecified) had happened to change James’ attitude. He matured significantly and proved he was responsible, trustworthy, and brave. He proved to be a good person, and Lily fell in love with him.
Shortly after graduating from Hogwarts, they got married and lived on the Potter family fortune while devoting their time and considerable skills to the Order of the Phoenix, an organized group of witches and wizards who acted as unofficial spies and kind-of soldiers in the fight against Voldemort during the First Wizarding War. Nearly a year and a half after Lily and James had left Hogwarts, two events coincided–and sealed their fates. Lily was pregnant…with a child prophesized to vanquish Voldemort.
The young family went into hiding, but not for long. The man whom they’d thought was their friend, whom they had trusted so completely as to choose him as their Secret Keeper…had been in league with the enemy. Within days, the Potters’ location had been compromised.
The evening of Halloween, Voldemort entered their home. James realized the breach first and yelled at Lily to take Harry and run while he bought them time. But James had left his wand in the other room, where fifteen-month-old Harry had played with it earlier. He was defenseless. With one spell, one glaring flash of green light, Voldemort killed him, much as he would swat a fly.
Lily hadn’t had time to do more than barricade herself and Harry in the nursery upstairs. She stood sentry before the crib in which the baby sat quietly. Voldemort easily gained entrance, and when Lily refused to get out of the way, her life was taken by another flash of green. But clever witch that she was, Lily had made sure to present herself as a willing sacrifice. While she had begged for mercy, she hadn’t reached for her wand, hadn’t made a move to fight. Her loving sacrifice protected Harry with magic the Dark Lord hadn’t anticipated. His killing curse rebounded upon himself, and ten years would pass before he and Harry met again.
Isn’t that sad? It just breaks my heart… I’m not saying this is the most tragic experience ever depicted. But something about it has always tortured me. Such deplorable things always happen to the best of people… Lily and James deserved so much more. The worst of it–my entire point–is that there is no escaping the fact that Lily and James died. The Harry Potter series takes place long after those events. Lily and James are dead and gone, bones in the ground, and by the end of the Second Wizarding War so will be all of their closest friends. When I wrote fanfiction about them…there was no other way for their story to end. No matter how I told it, no matter how much love and hope and humor I put into it, they would always be killed at the end. It drove me insane.
And though I hate doing so, I remain completely enamored of their love story. I think watching Fantastic Beasts and being reminded of how much I love the Wizarding World gave me the urge to revisit one of my favorite J/L Harry Potter fanfiction stories. It’s titled Crossroads, written about fifteen years ago (fucking time) by Emmyjean. Every now and then, I’ll go to The Hidden Tower and reread what I consider a very serious, powerful story for the pure joy of watching Lily and James fall in love and get together. The fanfiction was written in the middle of the Harry Potter series, when we didn’t know nearly as much about the Marauder Era as we do today, so much of it isn’t considered canon now, but I love it regardless of its inaccuracy. It inspired me ten years ago, and it continues to inspire me.
I mean… that’s irony, right? My favorite love story, that of Lily and James Potter, doesn’t have a happy ending. They’re betrayed by one of their best friends and murdered in their own home, orphaning their infant son. God, my chest hurts just thinking about it. And that’s why I promised myself that any romance I wrote would have a happy ending. My hero and heroine would be alive at the end, ready to take on the world together. Because they’re my friends, and I wish them the best. So I’ll leave it to other ballsier authors to kill their darlings–I’ll continue to hate loving them.
