The thump is loud; it's the sound of the front door swinging open and hitting the wall.
A wave of fear washes over Lily. She looks at James. The usual light in his eyes is missing, a serious and uncharacteristic stature overtakes him. "I'll check," he says. "Just put Harry to bed,
I'll be right up." He kisses her cheek, but lingers.
Lily looks up at him. He's a centimeter away from her face, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. He looks at her with love and fear and everything in between. He kisses her deeply, then kisses Harry's forehead, who lay unknowing in the crib. James leaves.
Lily watches him from the doorway as he carefully goes down the stairs. She doesn't know what to think.
She turns to Harry and smiles at him, he gurgles back to her. "I love you, Harry," she says in a voice just above a whisper.
Suddenly, though, a loud bang comes from downstairs and she hears James yell, "Lily! Lily, run! Get Harry and-" his voice falters.
Lily doesn't turn again to the door, leaving her backside entirely vulnerable. A tear slips down her cheek. She brushes Harry's hair from his forehead, staring into his bright green eyes as they stare into hers.
She finally turns when she hears loud footsteps. "I don't have to kill you, Potter. Just let me have the boy." His silver steel voice sends awful chills up her spine. She can't see the scene, for the door is blocking her view, though she can vividly imagine it in her mind.
Lily's mind fogs, knowing what will happen next. They had both left their wands on the kitchen counter. It's only inevitable. There's more conversation. She vaguely hears James shouting.
Though everything comes back into focus once she hears the great thump that tears her in two.
Another tear slides down her cheek.
James.
Harry starts crying.
Tom Riddle enters the room, his wand held up at Lily's nose, robes billowing, a sneer on his face. He had just made a kill.
Lily stones over.
"Give me the boy, and I won't have to kill you." He tries to lure her in, like a Siren from the books she used to read with Petunia when they were little girls. But, like the brave heroes, she stands her ground and guards her love.
"No, you can't have him." Her voice is just as wavering as she is. She feels her knees start to give out.
"I was given a pleaded order. I don't have to kill you, girl. But I will, unless you hand the boy ove-"
"NO!" she screams. "You can't have him!"
Tom Riddle sneers again, a strand of his brown hair falling over his too-human eyes. He looks like a normal wizard, one in the heat of the battle, but Lily knows, she understands, that the thing before her is not a man any more than she is.
She scrambles her mind for something useful. A wandless curse, a thick book, anything. But nothing comes.
Lily lets out a shaky, panicked breath. Her eyes go dry from holding them open, wide and staring. Tears, though, threaten to leak the second she blinks.
It's already too late.
Dear Padfoot,
Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present! It was his favourite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I'm enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground, but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course, James though it was funny, says he's going to be a great Quidditch player, but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off him when he gets going.
We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda, who has always been sweet to us, and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn't come, but the Orders got to come first, and Harry's not old enough to know it's his birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell - also, Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed a bit down, but that was probably the news about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard.
Bathilda drops in most days, she's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore, I'm sure he'd be pleased if he knew! I don't know how much to believe, actually, because it seems incredible that Dumbledore -
"Avada Kedavra."
Thump.
All is not well.
The Boy Who Lived cries loudly that night. His wails echoing in the crumbling house. He doesn't remember it, but a cloaked man had run in, tears streaming down his face as he left James Potter's body unattended and went straight to the newly-scarred-boy's mother.
Before Sirius Black could catch the snake, he slithered away, leaving the crying, haunted boy alone again.
That night, Sirius Black was taken to trail, where he would soon be sent to Azkaban for betraying the Order, inevitably killing Lily and James Potter, not to mention plenty of other Muggles, and for working with Voldemort himself.
That night, Peter Pettigrew was named killed by Black, only his thumb left in his wake.
That night, Remus Lupin slept soundly, wondering in his dreams if he should visit his friends sometime soon, completely unaware of what was to befall upon him in the morning.
That night, five friends grew up in different, awful ways.
That night, Harry Potter was left on number 4, Privet Drive, where, in the morning, his Aunt Petunia would screech at him when going out to fetch the milk bottles.
That October night, the wizarding war was officially over, Death Eaters went into hiding, Lucius Malfoy sent his son to bed without dinner, and Alice and Frank Longbottom smiled for the first time in ages at their poor, young boy.
And fourteen days later, Remus Lupin brought roses to his bestfriends' funeral.
hello hello there
its short and sad and i wrote it ages ago, but i feel bad for not coming out with anything.
sadly, i have no inspiration for writing at all.
- leigh