I've always been afraid of dying. It seems ironic now, scared as I am of something so similar, yet so different.
For it is no longer just my own life that I fear for.
Yes, the ever present, inevitable death. Every second brings us closer to it, and yet I never dreamed it would come so soon.
I remember, in my early schooling, I would sit for hours pondering the unknown.
And I hated it.
I hated not knowing.
What is hiding in the darkness?
What is possessing me to go anywhere near Potter?
Where do I go when I die?
Is there an afterlife? Am I reincarnated? Who was right; the Egyptians, the Romans, the Greeks?
Would I simply cease to exist?
After this I would shiver, shake my head and go find a book to distract myself.
It seems silly, now, to have worried for so long about such things, now that I have born witness to the casualties of war. And yet with each fallen friend, each funeral for which I cry myself to sleep, each pressing ache that this damned war heaps upon my person with each fatality, brings me closer to my own demise. It is quite upsetting that I can list them; Marlene, benjy, the Prewett twins, the Bones' – my own parents.
The fear of the unknown only grew when I fell pregnant with my first child. My only child. My Harry.
And yet, when it was over, the fear seemed to shrink a little.
Because I now had somebody to die for.
James was different, because he could defend himself, unlike our baby. I was Harry's only hope.
And it is with that renewed feeling of determination, and anger, and considerable fear, that I flee to my son's nursery and allow my love to defend us both, alone. I long to go back and aid my husband, but his words tell me all I need to know.
Protect our son.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" James cries, and I damn peter to the fiery pits of hell as Voldemort cackles.
"Avada Kedavra!" that – thing, yells. I scream as the green light illuminates the pram Sirius bought us when Harry was born.
My only love is dead now, and I realise with a jolt that he had attempted to face the Dark Lord, alone and wandless. Stupid Potter, idiotic potter, rash, brave, noble Potter! He and I left our wands in the sitting room and kitchen respectively. Stupid Lily, idiotic Lily, foolish, senseless, useless Lily! How can I protect my son, without my one weapon?
Nevertheless I press on, gently placing my baby in his cot and trying to barricade the door as best I can, all the while mumbling apologies to my fallen husband.
I'm sorry James, I'm so, so sorry!
The door is blasted open and I instinctively shield the cot with my body. Maybe he doesn't want Harry, maybe he'll leave us alone, maybe I'll save my son, perhaps he will take me instead. I chant these words over and over in my head as he approaches, with a customary Slytherin sneer spread across his once handsome features.
He raises his wand, and I'm not scared of death anymore. I'd rather die than let him kill my baby.
"Not Harry, not Harry," I beg. "Please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl, stand aside, now…"
I cannot. I will not. By all rights I should be cowering with fear, knowing now with blinding certainty my fate. But I am not.
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!"
"This is my last warning –"
"Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…" who am I kidding? He knows nothing of mercy. "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –" I'll die for you, Harry. Mumma loves you, like Dadda loved you, with all my heart and more. Mummy will protect you, my darling boy…don't be afraid, my love…
"Avada Kedavra!"
Mummy loves you, Harry…