Lily Evans Potter dried her hands on the worn dishtowel before returning it to its hook to dry. She could hear lovely little laughter coming out the other room from fifteen-month-old Harry as James made colorful little rings of smoke from his wand to amuse him. Harry was a very self-content person for someone so little, but lately he'd come down with a lingering case of cabin fever. She sighed as she peered out the window. The sun had set long ago—as it was nearly November—but the laughter and sounds of trick-or-treating children could still be heard. Lily had so wanted to take Harry for walks during the harvest season to admire the beautiful colors and the crisp, fresh air.
But life had had other plans.
They hadn't been in hiding for long, but between the long, grey days of late fall, the responsibility of maintaining a house, caring for a small baby, the stress of their current situation, and the knowledge of possibly, maybe being discovered was getting difficult to endure.
Lily lingered in her doubts, fears and self-pity for only a few more moments before she took a deep breath. That's enough, she admonished herself. Focus. Be grateful. You have a lot more than so many. She heard Harry burst out giggling again and James's deeper laughter join in. She closed her eyes, savoring the sound. Today, your family is healthy. Today, your family is safe. Today, your family is whole and alive and together. Stay on today. Don't worry about tomorrow until it comes. Now is what truly matters.
With those thoughts flowing through her mind, Lily left the kitchen, crossed through the entryway and paused at the doorway, watching her two most special boys play and laugh together. Harry was dressed in his favorite winter pajamas—blue fleece with booties. His dark hair was still slightly damp from his bath and it was sticking up every which way. Just like his father's, she tacked on as an affectionate afterthought.
James seemed to sense her presence then, for he looked up and caught her watching them. He flashed her a big grin before returning to Harry, kneeling down to his level.
"Now Harry, who is that?" he asked the toddler, turning him around so he now faced Lily. She too knelt down so she could look her son in the eye.
"Mummy!" Harry giggled, clapping his hands. "Mummy!"
"Very good, sweet boy," Lily praised her son. He'd said his first words a little after his first birthday, and since then, he'd become very a talkative little person. "Now Harry, who is this?" she asked, motioning for James to come sit next to her.
Harry's little eyebrows furrowed. He'd said the word Daddy many times before. He thought for a moment more before giving his parents an endearing look of confusion and defeat.
"What?" James exclaimed, feigning hurt. "What, Harry? No identification for me? You like Mummy better, don't you?"
Harry, having no idea what his father meant, simply nodded his head, giving his father drooly grin.
Lily laughed and picked up her son, squeezing him tight. "That's my little boy!"
"Your little boy indeed," James pretended to sniff, still apparently wounded.
Sensing tension, however exaggerated, Harry reached out one chubby hand to pat James's face, as if to reassure him that he did know who he was still, and that he did love James very much.
"You're forgiven," James chuckled, rumpling his son's already-messy hair.
"All right, Harry," Lily said, rising to her feet. "Time for bed, little one. You're very sleepy."
As if on cue, Harry laid his head on her shoulder, stuck his thumb in his mouth and nodded.
"Say good night to Daddy," Lily said, turning him so he could see James.
"Night-night," he said sleepily.
"Good night, little man," James whispered, kissing his forehead. "Sleep tight."
Lily rubbed her son's back as she walked towards the stairs, hoping to get him to fall asleep easily.
"Mummy…cup-cup," Harry said, pointing in the direction or the kitchen, reminding her that he liked to have a sippy-cup of water in his crib with him every night.
"Oh, we forgot your cup, didn't we? Let's go fix that."
The cup had just been washed, so Lily had to refill it. Harry was fading fast, and Lily wondered why she'd bothered to get the cup if he was nearly asleep and wouldn't miss it. Once it was full, she turned off the tap and walked back towards the hall.
"Lily!" James screamed her name, and in some sickening burst of intuition, Lily realized what this meant.
They'd been discovered.
James burst into the kitchen. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Run! I'll hold him off!"
"James—wait!" she screamed after him. He couldn't do this alone.
She saw a swirl of a black cloak and heard James scream, "Lily, go!"
Dropping the cup, she got a better grip on Harry before running to the stairs leading out from the back of the kitchen. The house had two staircases, the formal one in the front, and a smaller, cramped one in the back.
Clutching her baby to her chest, she dashed up the long staircase. She was barely halfway up when a brilliant flash of green light enveloped her and she heard a brief, muffled cry and a sickening thump. Tears pricked her eyes as the realization dawned on her.
James—no, oh no, please no. . .
She nearly stopped, the pain was so bad, but a whimper from her son made her continue forward. Blinking the tears from her eyes, she ran up the rest of the stairs, down the hall and into Harry's nursery, slamming the door shut behind them. Feverishly, she locked it, knowing full well it would do nothing to keep the Dark Lord out once he discovered where they were, but felt better with it slightly more secure anyway.
She could hear manic, horrible laughter echoing from the stairs, and Lily knew she didn't have much time. Harry was now crying openly into her sweater, and her thoughts and attention once more returned to her baby. Her precious little boy. His big green eyes were filled with tears and the image sliced her heart to ribbons.
"Oh, sweetheart, don't cry, Mummy's got you. Mummy won't ever leave you, baby. Harry James, I love you so much." She pressed him into her, trying desperately to shield her son from the chaos happening right outside the door, for the chilling laughter was now in the hallway, she could hear it.
A blast of heat and light filled the small room, shaking the floor and rocking all inside. Lily screamed, holding onto Harry as tightly as she could with one arm and clutching the rail of the crib with the other to avoid them both being knocked to the ground. The door crumbled to dust as the laughter entered the room.
Slipping her baby safely into his crib, Lily turned, alone, grief-stricken and defenseless, to face the Dark Lord.
She had seen him before—three times, she and James had encountered him in person, and before that, they'd seen many pictures of him. He grinned in a sickening way, knowing full well what he had done and was about to do and anticipating it gladly.
Despite the fact that she and her son were staring death quite literally in the face, Lily felt only anger. Her baby's life and well-being was in jeopardy, and whether it was a stranger or Lord Voldemort himself that threatened her son, she was not backing down without a fight. A boiling, powerful rage surged through her numb body—her maternal instincts kicking in with full force. "You—will—not—touch—him!" she cried.
The cloaked figure merely sighed before laughing, cruelly again, casually waving his wand, gesturing to the baby behind her.
"Well, girl, it is he I am here for. All I want is the boy—"
"No!" she screamed defiantly at him, feeling no concern for her own life. Harry's was all that mattered now.
Her anger and her complete refuse to obey his commands sent fury through ever bit of him. How dare she refuse? Wretched promise. "You have one chance...stand aside and be spared."
"No!" she cried again, despair and desperation hitting her, consuming her.
"Stand aside, you silly girl, stand aside...now."
"No, not Harry, I beg you, please not Harry!"
His words were a shriek of rage. "Shut up, you filthy Mudblood!"
Filthy Mudblood. . . The epithet pierced her soul, and Severus flashed into her mind, an old wound of a memory reopened with the cruel words. Oh, Sev, how could you ever be a part of something like this? You're not one of them. You're better, despite everything that happened, and so much more than this filth. Her pleas were broken, empty cries that were uttered in vain. "Please not Harry—I'll do anything! Have mercy, please, have mercy!"
"Lord Voldemort does not show mercy, your wretched husband has learned that."
The comment about James was a slap in the face. Her voice was raw and hoarse as she begged for her son's life. "Take me, kill me, kill me instead!"
She is suggesting what I should have done all along, he thought with a twisted sneer, gripping his wand.
"Avada Kedevra!"
Lily knew it would come sometime, but she hadn't thought of what it might be like. She heard the curse uttered, saw the sickening green flash briefly before it surrounded her, and then, all she knew was screaming, laughter, and finally, blessed, silent darkness. There had been no pain, but as her life slipped away, Lily thought of her only of her son. She would soon be reunited with James, but Harry was only a baby…now alone to face death. Harry, baby, it will be all right. I'm so sorry we failed to keep you safe, sweetheart. I love you, sweet boy. We'll be waiting for you.
Once Lily Potter had fallen, just as her foolish husband had, a new sense of fanatic fury and desire to see this one final threat erased from existence forever engulfed Voldemort.
Striding over towards the crib, he looked down at the body of a woman that would never laugh, cry or hold her baby again. Her bright green eyes were wide-open and her dark red hair was swirled all around her face. But there was something different about her face, something all of his other victims had had, but one that she lacked: the look of terror. Yes, her face was pale and her eyes were lifeless, but she looked almost...peaceful.
"Oh, pity, what a pity..." he murmured, surveying her empty body. She was very much gone, but a giggle from the crib reminded him that her son was still very much alive.
"Daddy!" the child giggled. "Daddy...play!"
Daddy...? It took a moment, but then it dawned on him then: The father had played with his son only a few minutes prior, he must think this whole thing was a joke...poor, poor boy, he thought in mock sympathy, clucking his tongue.
"Daddy is gone," he hissed. "Daddy is dead, Mummy is dead...and now, Harry Potter, you too will die..."
The child cocked his head, confused, wondering where this joke could be headed.
For the third time that evening, he screamed the words: "Avada Kedevra!"
The green light shot out from his wand, racing towards the boy. The light surrounded the child, and he screamed. Voldemort grinned, waiting, watching for the very second the boy's cries were silenced forever. He kept crying out. . .
The light suddenly stopped swirling around the boy, and before the Dark Lord could comprehend what was happening, the green light engulfed him, and he reduced to ash, to dust, to nothing. Crumpling, succumbing to the power of the light, Voldemort felt his life and what little remained of his soul be ripped from him.
The sound of the dark-haired, green-eyed child, still sobbing for his mother, was the last thing he heard.