Coeur Loyal, prologue.

[issahime]

Title: Coeur Loyal
Rating: Pg-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Oh, good lord, yes. Spoilers for everything, probably. Also, for this story I have killed the epilogue, cut it up into little tiny pieces, stitched what I liked back together, and mailed the rest back to JKR. Also also, contains infidelity and mpreg, though not detailed.
Notes: The idea and title for this come from the life of King Henry VIII. All parts can be found via the series tag.
Summary: "A talebearer revealeth secrets: but he that is of a faithful spirit concealeth the matter." - Proverbs 11:13


I was five when my mother moved to Elder Cottage, fifteen miles north of Godric’s Hollow. By then, she had all but been called an incestuous whore in the press. (I say “all but” because they were very careful to avoid anything that could bring a charge of slander against them.) That was hardly the only thing they implied, but it was the worst, by far. In the ten years since she married my father, she had been the wizarding world’s princess; a seductress and enchantress of Circe’s caliber; discovered and employed new and undetectable love charms and potions; and had her mind break under the strain of holding the Imperious curse over her husband for so long. Actually, that last isn’t far off, except for the Imperious bit.

Mother’s mind nearly did break under the strain of it all; that’s why she moved us out to Elder Cottage.

Dad bought the cottage as a country get-away soon after he was elected Minister of Magic. I believe that the entire family has been here once, just after it was bought and Mother decorated it. We spent an idyllic weekend here, then returned to London.

Elder Cottage is so named because it houses the Elder Wand, behind so many layers of wards, alarms, and protective charms that it’s barely visible in its muggle fiber-glass case. Papa Draco and Dad spent a week layering those spells. They’re bound to their blood, which means only my brothers, all working in tandem, can get past them. And even with all three of them working together, I don’t think they’re magically strong enough.

No, Dad will continue to be master of the Elder Wand for the rest of eternity, I think.

But that’s beside the point. I was telling you about Mother.

She was beautiful, once. I’ve seen pictures of her. From Hogwarts, from her wedding, even from the early years of her marriage. She was all smiling brown eyes, mischievous smiles, and flaming red hair. She had deep dimples in both cheeks and the freckles across her nose seemed to give her skin a healthy glow.

Now, she’s just a shadow of that girl. At thirty, Mother was an old woman. Her hair was graying, her smile was slower, and her eyes were dimmer. A buried son, three miscarriages, and an unfaithful husband would be hard on any woman. When you add the press to that, is it really any wonder Mother fled to the country?

Mother likes to tell me the story of how she and Dad met. How she couldn’t get past her schoolgirl crush long enough to say two words to him, but instead sent him a positively humiliating valentine to declare her love.

She likes to talk about how she and Dad got together. She had mostly gotten over the crush she had on him, had even dated other guys, but when he kissed her in the midst of an after-quidditch party in Gryffindor tower, she knew that her heart had always been his.

She loves telling me about her wedding day. It’s the closest she gets to the glowing girl in the pictures. Her eyes light up even as they go a bit distant, and she recalls with vivid detail the white and gold satin that draped St. Marguerite’s Cathedral at the end of Diagon Alley. Her voice goes soft as she talks about the crimson rosebuds and white lilies that flooded the aisles with their scent. There are usually tears in her eyes when she recounts the way Dad looked at her as if she were the only thing in the entire world that mattered. As if it could all disappear, Voldemort and his Death Eaters could return and burn Diagon Alley to ashes, and it wouldn’t matter as long as Harry Potter got to look at Ginny Weasley in her wedding gown as she repeated her vows.

Mother hates talking about the war. She and Dad are alike in that. Grandpere Lucius is the only one who will really tell us kids anything, and that’s only on certain nights. Mother, Dad, Papa Draco, Grandmere – they all clam up and change the subject whenever the war is mentioned. I know, from Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron, that Dad left Mother behind at the beginning of it all. I know from Professor Longbottom that he and Mother had a rough time of it at Hogwarts that year. But I don’t know how Mother or Dad felt about any of it.

Mother also doesn’t like to discuss Baby Arthur Frederick, buried next to the uncle we never knew, or the three babies that never even made it to their Naming Days and didn’t get graves. The last time Grandma Molly brought up Arthur Frederick’s grave, Mother locked herself in her bedroom and didn’t come out for two days.

What Mother hates discussing, more than anything else, though, is my brothers. She can hardly be in the same room as them, and when she is it’s only when she has no choice. They’re only keyed to the wards at the Cottage because they’re blood. To block them, she would have to block me as well, and Mother clings to me like a life preserver.

I suppose all of this requires a bit of explanation, and I’ll get to that. But first, let me introduce myself:

I am Lily Victoria Potter, legitimate daughter of Harry James Potter and Ginevra Anne Weasley, regardless of what the media says.