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Lily’s not a ghost, she can’t interact with people and she can’t touch things, pick things up, or talk. She’s not corporeal, more a presence but not really there, not at all.
What she can do is watch, and, well, there’s not exactly a lot else going on in the afterlife, so she does just that.
Mostly she watches Harry, her little boy she was so violently ripped away from. She’s not sure exactly what happened, how he survived, just that she woke up and the first thing she saw was Harry, in his crib, alive and bawling his eyes out.
She averts her eyes from her own dead body, just happy that Harry survived, and even happier when finally someone finds him, takes him. James presses a hand to the small of her back as they watch him carried off, Dumbledore talking to Hagrid, Hagrid taking Harry, gently placing him in the sidecar of his motorbike.
“That’s not safe,” she tries to say, but nothing comes out, and she supposes it’s better than being left behind.
She follows until they get to Privet Drive, and she hasn’t been here in near three years, just after Petunia and Vernon had moved in. In fact, Petunia and her haven’t talked since then, though she did send that vase when she and James married, but she feels good, leaving Harry here, figuring that Petunia will look after him, her only extended family left now. She’s significantly less pleased when Dumbledore leaves her son on the stoop before heading off, only appeased when she realizes Minerva plans to stick around, turning back into her tabby form and perching on the wall on the other side of the garden until Petunia opens the door.
As he gets older, though, it’s clear that Petunia and Vernon do not plan on treating Harry as if he were their own, and she’s sure it has something to do with the fact that Harry is most certainly a wizard. It doesn’t matter the reasoning, though; Lily doesn’t think she’s ever hated her sister until now, treating her nephew as if he’s a burden while her own son gets treats aplenty, presents galore, and is reigned down with the closest thing to love she and her husband know.
Lily tries to sit with Harry whenever possible, hoping that he’ll feel her presence, her love, and it will help make up for the lack of that he’s getting in this home. And she’s heard Dumbledore’s reasoning a hundred times now, of why Harry had to go here instead of living with some of their friends, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it, and she doesn’t. She spends the first eleven years of Harry’s life angry most times, only comforted by the moments when Harry looks right at her, eyebrows drawn like he can sense her but doesn’t know why.
It gets better when he gets his Hogwarts letter, and Hagrid’s good to Harry. He might be oblivious sometimes, but Hagrid’s always been nice and cares deeply, and that’s more than Harry’s seen in a long time.
In his first year Harry makes good friends, finally finds a family who cares about him, and Lily is deeply proud of her little boy, growing up and defending his friends and being brave. She sits in shock when he meets Voldemort, the evil they all thought had been defeated long ago, and watches with intense fear as they face off, only for Harry to be victorious, protected by her love. She spends some time crying and unable to physically do anything when he falls, alive but barely so, unconscious, and only feels better months later, when he’s started his second year safe and sound and protected and loved again.
It seems like this goes on every year; her watching, proud as he learns, plays quidditch, hangs out with his friends, only to be scared at the end as he faces the evilest parts of the wizarding world, her unable to help, to do anything, but watch on and encourage him. He wins out every time, but often just barely, by the skin of his teeth.
When he’s seventeen, travelling across the country with Hermione and Ron, fighting and loving and working hard to do whatever they can to defeat Voldemort, she’s with them, too, watching. Watching even when things seem to take turns for the worse, one domino after another falling and when they’ve all given up a little too much hope, barely holding on to their sanity.
It’s only when Harry walks into the forest after Voldemort’s call, holding Dumbledore’s snitch in his hand, that she realizes what’s happening and – no. No. If this happens, her own life and protection will mean nothing, not without her son continuing on. And that image of her – it’s not her, it’s not James. She glares daggers at Dumbledore, who’s also watching from the afterlife, for this approximation of her encouraging Harry on, because she couldn’t, wouldn’t.
He dies, but not really; she can feel the life blood beneath the surface after the curse is thrown his way, but he’s not moving. Narcissa leans down, and she hears the gentle breath of Harry’s in return and – yes. He’s back, playing dead but very much alive and her eyes swell with tears, her precious child.
Then he does something amazing and manages to turn the tide of the battle, stepping out in one fell swoop and facing a very powerful, very bad wizard like it’s nothing. She’s proud of her boy, not stooping to his level and using what would normally be a relatively harmless spell, but she’s also a little frustrated because that’s not how you win. But against all the odds, he does; her brilliant child, he manages to overtake the dark lord and then he’s done, dropped dead and Harry’s breathing heavily. She can already tell that this entire encounter will weight on him but hopes that with the support system he has – most of Hogwarts’ students and faculty as well as the Order stand behind him – Harry will be able to move past it, have a good rest of his life.
Everything the next few years seems boring compared to the life that Harry has lived, but Lily’s ever grateful for it; she’d much rather see him at home with his cat, curled up around a fireplace with a mug of butterbeer, or hanging with Ron and Hermione at a Hollyhead Harpies match, than out doing dangerous things protecting the world.
It’s only years later, at Harry and Ginny’s wedding, a small thing with only close family and friends, that Lily recognizes exactly how happy he finally is.
“He’s okay, isn’t he?” she asks James, who’s sitting next to her at one of the back tables, currently not occupied by anyone as the dancefloor is full. James looks at her, soft smile on his face, and nods.
“He’s okay.”
And for the first time in twenty-four years, Lily feels okay with flitting away for a little while, sure that there are more than enough people surrounding who care about Harry and who will look after him in her wake.