Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me. Duh.
Warnings: This fic is rated PG-13 for character death and a bit of language. Also, it's written in first-person present tense, so if that annoys you don't read.
If you don't enjoy this, I'm sorry in advance.
* * * * * * * * * *
At last, we're home.
After months on the run, countless hiding-holes, endless nights lying awake in fear, we're home. A place no one can find us.
Harry will grow up here. Godric's Hollow is a nice enough neighborhood, and James and I decided we would live here after the war.
Assuming it ends, that is.
Harry shifts against my shoulder, murmuring sleepily, and I glance at my little love. He's got his thumb in mouth again. I really should break him of that habit before it gets too firmly ingrained. But not right now. Right now, I will simply hug him closer to me, my precious child.
The war will end. I'll make sure of that.
I take my year-old son into our bedroom and lay him down on the bed. I'll make him his own cradle of blankets later; right now I need to help James unpack.
Not that there's much to unpack, just some clothes and mementos. Good thing the house came fully furnished, else we'd be sleeping on the floor and eating off of crates. I unzip my duffelbag and take out the first thing that my hand touches.
It's a picture, James and I on our wedding day. We wear matching dazed smiles and wave at the camera; Sirius and Petunia grin from behind us. I smile back. We were all so happy that day. Sometimes I think that was the last happy day I'll ever have.
Then I think of my son, of his eternally unruly black hair. And I know there will be happier days to come. I will make it so.
That photograph goes onto the mantelpiece, followed by several pictures of Harry. Then, suddenly, I am confronted by another vision of the past.
There I am, in graduation robes, waving my diploma excitedly. James, his arm looped around my middle, just beams. Remus' smile is somewhat weak, which is understandable given the full moon the day before, but full of warmth. Peter stares at his diploma in shock; he was ever so surprised when he graduated. And there, trying to snap Peter out of his haze, is Sirius Black, James' best friend.
I frown slightly. Sirius is my friend too, but I can't say I really trust him. He has a habit of placing himself above his friends that just irks me.
James trusts him, though. Trusts him more than Remus, the logic for which I cannot fathom. It was Sirius who tried to use Remus as a weapon, after all, not the other way around. That does not speak well of him, in my opinion.
I have to admit, though, he is the better choice for Harry's godfather. Remus has enough trouble taking care of himself, he doesn't need the added burden of a child, especially since he is fully capable of killing that child on the night of the full moon. I trust Remus, yes, but I don't trust the wolf.
And Peter...I am glad Peter is our Secret-Keeper instead of Sirius. No one would think of trying to get information from him, and I'm also relieved Sirius doesn't know where we are. Even if someone did find out about Peter, I know he'd never betray us. Loyalty is a trademark Hufflepuff trait, after all.
I remember how shocked James was when first Sirius, then I, insisted that Peter be our Secret-Keeper. Sirius was quite shocked as well, given that I had been rather cool towards him ever since his little "prank." Their expressions were absolutely priceless, another happy memory to store away.
That picture goes up, as well as several more pictures of Harry and a baby picture of James in the tub (I'll take it down before Harry gets tall enough to see it.) Suddenly I am at the last one, a middle-aged man and a middle-aged woman with their arms about each other, a pretty girl with long blonde hair to the side. My throat constricts.
My family.
The memories crowd in. This was their first wizarding photograph; they were so excited when it was developed, and they saw themselves smiling and waving on paper. I smile back, then close my eyes as other, more recent memories cue up for their turn.
I remember their shocked faces as I told them I would have to go into hiding, that a powerful Dark Wizard was after me, that they had better hide themselves too. My father scoffed, asked me why in the world they should hide when it was obvious to anyone with a brain that they were not tied in with the wizarding world in any way. I argued. They laughed.
I remember my sister, screaming at me when we heard that Death Eaters had blown my parents away. Suddenly, she hated me; she blamed me for their deaths.
I stand and shakingly place the picture on the mantel with the others and just look at it for a while, tears slipping from my eyes.
"Lily, you almost done--" James' voice cuts off. After a moment of silence, he wraps his arms around my waist, nuzzles my neck.
"It wasn't your fault, Lily."
I sink back into him, and he holds me more tightly. Dear James. He doesn't understand, but he still tries so hard; it never fails to touch me. I turn around and allow him to kiss my forehead.
"If I hadn't been involved in this miserable war, they'd still be alive, James. That makes it my fault."
He shakes his head.
"You stood up for what you believed in. The Death Eaters were the ones that decided to go after noncombatants, not you. It's not your fault. Please believe me."
I let him hold me for another minute, then I pull away, wiping my tears and smiling shakily.
"Let's just finish up, hm?"
He looks at me skeptically.
"If you think you're alright."
I'm not, but if I dwell on it any longer I'll get depressed, and that's the last thing any of us need right now. 'When mother's unhappy, everyone's unhappy,' I've heard, and I believe it.
After setting up blankets in an armchair for Harry, James and I go to bed, even though it's actually quite early. It's been a long day, after all.
Later that night, though, the sound of our front door being opened startles me awake. I nudge James and he is instantly alert. We listen; there it is- -footsteps, getting closer and closer. We reach for our wands.
"Lily," James whispers, "take Harry and run."
I shoot a sharp glance at him, then get out of bed and creep to Harry, picking him up and shushing him as he protests. As I tiptoe out of the room and towards our back door, I can hear James standing. My thoughts catch up with me.
Oh, Peter, how could you? I trusted you. I put Harry's life, James' life, my life into your hands, and you sold us out. You bastard. If I live I will kill you. Or maybe I'll just lock you in a room with Remus on a full moon night. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, once he hears the circumstances.
"LILY! RUN, LILY, GET OUT OF HERE!"
A flash of green light announces my husband's death, but I don't dwell on it now; I have to get Harry out of here, to somewhere safe. I'll grieve later. Not caring if I make noise or not, I sprint towards our back door. Once I get out of the wards on this house I'll be able to Apparate, and we'll be safe, Harry and I.
Fifteen feet away...Ten...Five...Fo--
"Crucio."
I scream and drop to the floor, losing my grip on Harry as terrible pain wracks my body. Everything hurts, everything. Doubling over, I note that Harry is crying. I hope he isn't hurt.
After some amunt of time--I have no idea how long--the pain subsides into a bone-deep throbbing, and I can finally open my eyes again. Cold red eyes stare back at me. It's him. I screw up my courage and grin cheekily.
"I suppose I should be honored that the great Voldemort himself came to kill me."
He slaps me and smiles, parting his thin lips to show teeth that have just the hint of fang in them.
"You always did have too smart of a mouth for someone on the losing side."
"How'd you get Peter to talk?"
"Let's just say I offered him...suitable compensation for his services."
"You mean his life?"
He laughs.
"You think I'd kill him? What good is he to me dead, you silly girl?"
Better dead than alive to us, I think.
"Crucio."
The pain is back again, even worse this time, and I scream into the floor, and Voldemort laughs and laughs and laughs. Sadistic bastard.
The intensity fades, and I spend a few moments just trying to get my breath back. Harry is crying louder than ever; poor child must be scared out of his mind.
"But what's this? A little Potter?"
No no no! He has to leave Harry alone! I'll rip his throat out with my bare hands before I let him lay a hand on my son!
"So like your father you look. Come here, there's a lad."
I'm finally able to look up, and--he's got Harry in his arms, he's holding my son in his filthy claws!
"No! Not Harry, he's just a baby, please--please--"
I burst into tears. Voldemort chuckles, then place Harry on the floor, just out of my reach.
"Well, would you look at this? Lily Evans, begging like some common whore. Now tell me, what can you offer me for your son's life?"
"Anything--I'll do anything, just please leave him alone--"
So close, I'm so close I can almost touch him, I can almost pull Harry into my arms, but my muscles are locked with remembered pain, and all I can do is watch as that monster pats my son on the head.
"It's a little too late for that, my dear. The only way this could have been avoided is if you had joined me when you had the chance. You made the wrong choice then, and you'll pay for it now."
He stands and points his wand at Harry.
"No greater pain a mother can bear than to watch her child die, eh?"
God, please let me move!
"Avada--"
All of a sudden, it's all clear to me. The pain fades away as I realize it doesn't matter. I dropped my wand when I fell; that doesn't matter. In fact, I don't matter either. All that matters is that Voldemort is going to kill my son if I don't do something.
"NO!"
I fling myself over my baby just as he completes the spell.
"--Kedrava."
It's strange, I thought that death would hurt more than this. My impression was always that Avada Kedrava ripped your soul from your body and flung it off into parts unknown. Instead, it's more like a push, a little shove that sends you out of your body and into the air. I'm floating, my mind at peace, still looking down at Harry. I whisper softly to him, though I doubt he can hear me now.
"Shh, shh, it's alright, mother's here--"
"Stupid girl."
Voldemort flings my former body away and points his wand again, but I barely notice; I'm too busy loving my son for the last time.
"I love you, Harry, always, always, always..."
I envelope him in the spiritual version of a hug, winding my essence all around him, sealing him in my love just as Voldemort completes the spell again.
I feel it pass through me, and Harry screams, and so do I, as much as spirits can.
But he keeps on screaming. He's alive, he's alive, my son will live! Voldemort's essence is gone, who knows where; as long as it's not here, I couldn't care less.
"Lily."
There's another soul here now--James.
"Lily, we have to go soon."
"One more minute."
I feel him float down next to me, concern for Harry radiating from him; he knows as well as I do that the scar on my son's forehead won't go away, not ever. He'll always be marked. But he's alive. My son is alive. I would cry if I still had eyes.
James seems to pull himself together again and speaks.
"Voldemort's gone."
"I know."
"You stopped him, Lily. We've won."
He seems confused as to why I'm not as excited as he is. Understandable; I've avenged my parent's deaths, his death, my own death and the deaths of countless others Voldemort was directly or indirectly responsible for. Why shouldn't I be excited?
My joy has a different origin, however. James was a wonderful man, true, but our priorities were different. His preoccupation was with winning the war, and mine--
"Of course we've won. Harry's alive."
--Mine was with what came after it.
* * * * * * * * *
Ack. That's the end of the fic. Glad you got through it. Sorry if Lily seemed a little idealized here, but not much of her personality is evident in the books, so I didn't have much to go on.
By the way, the comment about loyalty being a Hufflepuff trait actually does have justification. You see, I'm pretty sure that the Marauders were actually in different Houses during their school years; James in Gryffindor, Peter in Hufflepuff, Remus in Ravenclaw, and Sirius in Slytherin. For some reason, their personalities seem to fit these Houses better than if they were all in Gryffindor. If it really bothers you, email me and I can send you my whole theory about this. But I doubt anyone will.
Warnings: This fic is rated PG-13 for character death and a bit of language. Also, it's written in first-person present tense, so if that annoys you don't read.
If you don't enjoy this, I'm sorry in advance.
* * * * * * * * * *
At last, we're home.
After months on the run, countless hiding-holes, endless nights lying awake in fear, we're home. A place no one can find us.
Harry will grow up here. Godric's Hollow is a nice enough neighborhood, and James and I decided we would live here after the war.
Assuming it ends, that is.
Harry shifts against my shoulder, murmuring sleepily, and I glance at my little love. He's got his thumb in mouth again. I really should break him of that habit before it gets too firmly ingrained. But not right now. Right now, I will simply hug him closer to me, my precious child.
The war will end. I'll make sure of that.
I take my year-old son into our bedroom and lay him down on the bed. I'll make him his own cradle of blankets later; right now I need to help James unpack.
Not that there's much to unpack, just some clothes and mementos. Good thing the house came fully furnished, else we'd be sleeping on the floor and eating off of crates. I unzip my duffelbag and take out the first thing that my hand touches.
It's a picture, James and I on our wedding day. We wear matching dazed smiles and wave at the camera; Sirius and Petunia grin from behind us. I smile back. We were all so happy that day. Sometimes I think that was the last happy day I'll ever have.
Then I think of my son, of his eternally unruly black hair. And I know there will be happier days to come. I will make it so.
That photograph goes onto the mantelpiece, followed by several pictures of Harry. Then, suddenly, I am confronted by another vision of the past.
There I am, in graduation robes, waving my diploma excitedly. James, his arm looped around my middle, just beams. Remus' smile is somewhat weak, which is understandable given the full moon the day before, but full of warmth. Peter stares at his diploma in shock; he was ever so surprised when he graduated. And there, trying to snap Peter out of his haze, is Sirius Black, James' best friend.
I frown slightly. Sirius is my friend too, but I can't say I really trust him. He has a habit of placing himself above his friends that just irks me.
James trusts him, though. Trusts him more than Remus, the logic for which I cannot fathom. It was Sirius who tried to use Remus as a weapon, after all, not the other way around. That does not speak well of him, in my opinion.
I have to admit, though, he is the better choice for Harry's godfather. Remus has enough trouble taking care of himself, he doesn't need the added burden of a child, especially since he is fully capable of killing that child on the night of the full moon. I trust Remus, yes, but I don't trust the wolf.
And Peter...I am glad Peter is our Secret-Keeper instead of Sirius. No one would think of trying to get information from him, and I'm also relieved Sirius doesn't know where we are. Even if someone did find out about Peter, I know he'd never betray us. Loyalty is a trademark Hufflepuff trait, after all.
I remember how shocked James was when first Sirius, then I, insisted that Peter be our Secret-Keeper. Sirius was quite shocked as well, given that I had been rather cool towards him ever since his little "prank." Their expressions were absolutely priceless, another happy memory to store away.
That picture goes up, as well as several more pictures of Harry and a baby picture of James in the tub (I'll take it down before Harry gets tall enough to see it.) Suddenly I am at the last one, a middle-aged man and a middle-aged woman with their arms about each other, a pretty girl with long blonde hair to the side. My throat constricts.
My family.
The memories crowd in. This was their first wizarding photograph; they were so excited when it was developed, and they saw themselves smiling and waving on paper. I smile back, then close my eyes as other, more recent memories cue up for their turn.
I remember their shocked faces as I told them I would have to go into hiding, that a powerful Dark Wizard was after me, that they had better hide themselves too. My father scoffed, asked me why in the world they should hide when it was obvious to anyone with a brain that they were not tied in with the wizarding world in any way. I argued. They laughed.
I remember my sister, screaming at me when we heard that Death Eaters had blown my parents away. Suddenly, she hated me; she blamed me for their deaths.
I stand and shakingly place the picture on the mantel with the others and just look at it for a while, tears slipping from my eyes.
"Lily, you almost done--" James' voice cuts off. After a moment of silence, he wraps his arms around my waist, nuzzles my neck.
"It wasn't your fault, Lily."
I sink back into him, and he holds me more tightly. Dear James. He doesn't understand, but he still tries so hard; it never fails to touch me. I turn around and allow him to kiss my forehead.
"If I hadn't been involved in this miserable war, they'd still be alive, James. That makes it my fault."
He shakes his head.
"You stood up for what you believed in. The Death Eaters were the ones that decided to go after noncombatants, not you. It's not your fault. Please believe me."
I let him hold me for another minute, then I pull away, wiping my tears and smiling shakily.
"Let's just finish up, hm?"
He looks at me skeptically.
"If you think you're alright."
I'm not, but if I dwell on it any longer I'll get depressed, and that's the last thing any of us need right now. 'When mother's unhappy, everyone's unhappy,' I've heard, and I believe it.
After setting up blankets in an armchair for Harry, James and I go to bed, even though it's actually quite early. It's been a long day, after all.
Later that night, though, the sound of our front door being opened startles me awake. I nudge James and he is instantly alert. We listen; there it is- -footsteps, getting closer and closer. We reach for our wands.
"Lily," James whispers, "take Harry and run."
I shoot a sharp glance at him, then get out of bed and creep to Harry, picking him up and shushing him as he protests. As I tiptoe out of the room and towards our back door, I can hear James standing. My thoughts catch up with me.
Oh, Peter, how could you? I trusted you. I put Harry's life, James' life, my life into your hands, and you sold us out. You bastard. If I live I will kill you. Or maybe I'll just lock you in a room with Remus on a full moon night. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, once he hears the circumstances.
"LILY! RUN, LILY, GET OUT OF HERE!"
A flash of green light announces my husband's death, but I don't dwell on it now; I have to get Harry out of here, to somewhere safe. I'll grieve later. Not caring if I make noise or not, I sprint towards our back door. Once I get out of the wards on this house I'll be able to Apparate, and we'll be safe, Harry and I.
Fifteen feet away...Ten...Five...Fo--
"Crucio."
I scream and drop to the floor, losing my grip on Harry as terrible pain wracks my body. Everything hurts, everything. Doubling over, I note that Harry is crying. I hope he isn't hurt.
After some amunt of time--I have no idea how long--the pain subsides into a bone-deep throbbing, and I can finally open my eyes again. Cold red eyes stare back at me. It's him. I screw up my courage and grin cheekily.
"I suppose I should be honored that the great Voldemort himself came to kill me."
He slaps me and smiles, parting his thin lips to show teeth that have just the hint of fang in them.
"You always did have too smart of a mouth for someone on the losing side."
"How'd you get Peter to talk?"
"Let's just say I offered him...suitable compensation for his services."
"You mean his life?"
He laughs.
"You think I'd kill him? What good is he to me dead, you silly girl?"
Better dead than alive to us, I think.
"Crucio."
The pain is back again, even worse this time, and I scream into the floor, and Voldemort laughs and laughs and laughs. Sadistic bastard.
The intensity fades, and I spend a few moments just trying to get my breath back. Harry is crying louder than ever; poor child must be scared out of his mind.
"But what's this? A little Potter?"
No no no! He has to leave Harry alone! I'll rip his throat out with my bare hands before I let him lay a hand on my son!
"So like your father you look. Come here, there's a lad."
I'm finally able to look up, and--he's got Harry in his arms, he's holding my son in his filthy claws!
"No! Not Harry, he's just a baby, please--please--"
I burst into tears. Voldemort chuckles, then place Harry on the floor, just out of my reach.
"Well, would you look at this? Lily Evans, begging like some common whore. Now tell me, what can you offer me for your son's life?"
"Anything--I'll do anything, just please leave him alone--"
So close, I'm so close I can almost touch him, I can almost pull Harry into my arms, but my muscles are locked with remembered pain, and all I can do is watch as that monster pats my son on the head.
"It's a little too late for that, my dear. The only way this could have been avoided is if you had joined me when you had the chance. You made the wrong choice then, and you'll pay for it now."
He stands and points his wand at Harry.
"No greater pain a mother can bear than to watch her child die, eh?"
God, please let me move!
"Avada--"
All of a sudden, it's all clear to me. The pain fades away as I realize it doesn't matter. I dropped my wand when I fell; that doesn't matter. In fact, I don't matter either. All that matters is that Voldemort is going to kill my son if I don't do something.
"NO!"
I fling myself over my baby just as he completes the spell.
"--Kedrava."
It's strange, I thought that death would hurt more than this. My impression was always that Avada Kedrava ripped your soul from your body and flung it off into parts unknown. Instead, it's more like a push, a little shove that sends you out of your body and into the air. I'm floating, my mind at peace, still looking down at Harry. I whisper softly to him, though I doubt he can hear me now.
"Shh, shh, it's alright, mother's here--"
"Stupid girl."
Voldemort flings my former body away and points his wand again, but I barely notice; I'm too busy loving my son for the last time.
"I love you, Harry, always, always, always..."
I envelope him in the spiritual version of a hug, winding my essence all around him, sealing him in my love just as Voldemort completes the spell again.
I feel it pass through me, and Harry screams, and so do I, as much as spirits can.
But he keeps on screaming. He's alive, he's alive, my son will live! Voldemort's essence is gone, who knows where; as long as it's not here, I couldn't care less.
"Lily."
There's another soul here now--James.
"Lily, we have to go soon."
"One more minute."
I feel him float down next to me, concern for Harry radiating from him; he knows as well as I do that the scar on my son's forehead won't go away, not ever. He'll always be marked. But he's alive. My son is alive. I would cry if I still had eyes.
James seems to pull himself together again and speaks.
"Voldemort's gone."
"I know."
"You stopped him, Lily. We've won."
He seems confused as to why I'm not as excited as he is. Understandable; I've avenged my parent's deaths, his death, my own death and the deaths of countless others Voldemort was directly or indirectly responsible for. Why shouldn't I be excited?
My joy has a different origin, however. James was a wonderful man, true, but our priorities were different. His preoccupation was with winning the war, and mine--
"Of course we've won. Harry's alive."
--Mine was with what came after it.
* * * * * * * * *
Ack. That's the end of the fic. Glad you got through it. Sorry if Lily seemed a little idealized here, but not much of her personality is evident in the books, so I didn't have much to go on.
By the way, the comment about loyalty being a Hufflepuff trait actually does have justification. You see, I'm pretty sure that the Marauders were actually in different Houses during their school years; James in Gryffindor, Peter in Hufflepuff, Remus in Ravenclaw, and Sirius in Slytherin. For some reason, their personalities seem to fit these Houses better than if they were all in Gryffindor. If it really bothers you, email me and I can send you my whole theory about this. But I doubt anyone will.